Sawt al Niswa | صوت النسوة - hereandthere من هنا وهناك

Teta’s Songs

hiba — Thu, 11 Oct 2012 21:00:00 +0000

Nayrouz Abu Hatom

Nazareth- Palestine

On Saturday, the last day of September, it rained over Nazareth. They say in Arabic “أيلول بطرفه مبلول”, “September is wet at its edge” and regardless of the climate changes experts tell us about, it did rain just like the old saying goes. The rain was light, but strong enough to rush my brother and I out to collect the hanging laundry on roof’s ropes. My neighbours were also rushing out to do the same. It was the first rain; it was light brown. The first rain always comes with dust, as if pushing the sand and dust in the air into earth.

And as in every Saturday, my grandmother comes over to my family’s house for lunch. As always, she sits in our living room and talks about her bodily pains, the medicine she takes, what the doctor told her and when her next appointments are. Then she would say: “I was strong; I built houses for my sons; I would carry the sand on my back for the construction workers, I was strong”.

That day, an urge inside me told me to record her as she remembered her past. It was something I had always wanted to do it but never did. That day, the feeling was strong. It was that fear that our grandmothers will take all these stories with them when they move to another world. So as I peeled potatoes for lunch, I asked her if she could tell me stories from her past about our village, nearby Nazareth. And I turned the voice recorder on. Later, of course she wanted to hear the recordings and while listening to it she would comment on her own voice reaffirming what she said in the recording.

I did not know what to expect when I turned on the voice recorder and asked: “Teta, tell me about the weddings you remember from the old days”.

And she said: “we would gather wood for the fire that would burn to heat food”. She did not elaborate much more. She wanted to go right to the songs. “They would “hold” (بصمدو) the bride still on a couch. Women would gather in front of the bride, but they would not dance.” They would have to be pulled to dance by the host. “Not like today, all women rush to dance at the same time. In the past, they would not accept to dance, since they have to be invited by the host.”

Then the singing starts. Teta told me that for each woman there is different song reflecting her position in social life. For the freshly married woman they would sing:

آي يا اول حضورك

آي يا شمعة ع طولك

آي ويا هو جايكي عريس

آي نيجي نزورك

While no translation can bring the heart of the poetry in those songs and the context or the sighs of the souls they dwell in, I nonetheless, decided to be unfair and translate them. This kind of translation feels like a slight violation, and it should always be accompanied by an apology that acknowledges the imperfection as a necessary element of it.

Ayee your first presence

Ayee a candle as tall as you [you’re a candle]

Aye when you birth the groom [son]

Aye we will come to visit you

Teta then told me that “fist presence” means the “first pregnancy”.

And she shared more songs about the social status of the woman who dances. “So for the married woman who has children, they would sing a song praising her husband:

آي يا الك عز من هيبته يمشي مع الحكام

آي يا مرخي ردانه متل الترك لقدام

آي يا يوم إنكشف عن جبينه شاشة العربان

آي يا صحة وعوافي يا الي ماسك الفنجان

Ayee be praised, with his pride he walks with leaders

Ayee he who wears his gown like a Turk [a marker of prestige, refers to the Ottomans who ruled these lands]

Ayee on his forehead a marker of greatness [or Arab nobility]

Ayee health and strength to those who drink [Coffee, or could be Araq]

I wish I brought my notebook, Teta sighed. I have written all of these songs down. Maybe it was that I wanted to disassociate myself from my own present that day, but I just wanted to hear anything she remembered from her past. So I told her I wanted to hear anything she remembered. And she went on singing:

عديدو المهرا وهاتو البارودة

زفولي “فلان” لباب العقودة

عديدو المهرا وهاتو الشبرية

زفولي “فلان” لباب العلية

Prepare the horse and bring the rifle

Dance for “Name of Person” to the door of the house

Prepare the horse and bring the dagger

Dance for “Name” to the door of the room

With the same breath she continued:

يا يما ما أحلى الزفة وولاد عمي قدامي

“فلان” يمسك الفرس و “علان” يرقص قدامي

يا يما ما أحلى الزفة وولاد عمي قدامي

Oh mother how beautiful is the wedding with my cousins in front of me

“name A” holds the horse and “name B” dances in front of me

Oh mother how beautiful is the wedding with my cousins in front of me

During weddings, she said, the bride’s and the groom’s families would compete in singing poetic verses that boast about their side of the family. Sometimes these singing competitions would create a lot of tension between the families.

A woman from the groom’s family would sing:

اي يا عروستنا لاتعبسي

أي يا عريسنا أحسن وأحسن

أي يا سالفك ها الرومي

أي يا تحت شاربه ها الأشقر

Ayee Oh bride do not frown

Ayee our groom is the best

Ayee you will be related to the Byzantine [also Greek Orthodox]

Ayee beneath his blond mustache [sing of foreign status]

I asked my grandmother who is this “Roumi”–Byzantine–? This is what they used to sing, she replied, but did not really answer my question! My mother, who was Greek Catholic before her marriage, yelled from the kitchen with a cynical voice: “Of course they mean Greek Orthodox, they always like to praise themselves.” The conversation ended there. But Teta always argued that “in the beginning all Christians were Greek Orthodox, until fragmentation happened in the church”. She would then brag about the fact that the Greek Orthodox Church owns so much land in Palestine.

Teta’s story continued. “The bride’s family would then respond”, complementing the bride:

آي يا عريس عريس لا تندم على المال

آي يا عروستك حواجب قوس محنيه

آي يا تسوا بنات عمك ميه على ميه

Ayee Oh Groom do not regret the money

Ayee Your bride’s eyebrows bended arc

Ayee She is more worth than your cousins [female cousins]

They also sang other songs, she told me:

يا بيّ “فلان” ع الساحة ضيوف كتار

إدبح دبايح وهيّل الرز بالقنطار

خيّنا يا العريس هيّل فراش العال

ساحة كبيرة وكل ضيوفها شعّار

Oh “Name of Person” the yard is full of guests

Slaughter the sacrifice and pour a lot of rice

Groom, brother, prepare the fancy place

The yard is big and our guests are all poets.

She kept singing:

جيت أغني متلي ما حدا غنى

متل الطير بالبستان غنى

ريتك يا “فلان” بهالعروس تتهنى

أخدت بنت الأصايل

وخليت الغير يستنى

I came to sing like no one else did

Like a bird in the garden singing

I wish you “name” joy with your bride

You found the best and kept the rest waiting [for their time to find a bride]

A woman singing for her son, her brothers or male cousin:

يا بيّ “فلان” وإحنا اليوم بحيّك

يا ورد جوري كل الناس بفيّك

طلبت من رب السما يرحم عيون بيّك

ويوفق الدهر بينك وبين خيّك

Oh “name” today we’re in your neighbourhood

Oh Damascus Rose all people in your shade

I asked god mercy on your father’s eyes

May destiny brings peace between you and your brother

I finished peeling the potatoes and gave them to my mother in the kitchen. I sat next to Teta and asked her what about funerals, what would you do? They are not like today, she said. Women today say some prayers, in the past women would mourn with lament singing that sounds like loud crying, نواح- nouwa7. She told me that her mother would do it in funerals. Then she sighed, “khalas, let’s finish here, stop the recording.”

But I know that I saw a silent sadness in her eyes when I asked her about funerals; she too, with her complains about losing her sight gradually, fears the present as if there was no future.

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Syria: Abundance of Images but Absolute Lack of Frame of Thought

Azadeh Faramarziha — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 21:38:12 +0000

Sawt al Niswa

Nayrouz Abu Hatom

(Nazareth-Palestine)

The waves of revolutions in the Arab world have challenged so many assumptions, opinions, political streams and even political structural relations around the world, on macro and micro levels. Some link the revolutions to the same point of origin, some think they are product of global processes and others think they are informed by local political, economic, religious tensions.

The different revolutions that multiplied through specific fertile fields did not produce as much political tensions and radicalizations as did the ongoing Syrian protest against the rule of its dictator.

The case of Syria, like other Arab states, is complicated. Yet, one simplicity of analysis floats on the surface of many political streams. The simplicity of binary thinking, that is a product of long terms imperial and colonial discourses imposed on this region (and others), has been internalized and reproduced by many of the Arab intellectuals to this day.

Here in Palestine, Palestine of 67 or of 48, most political parties used the scenes and stories from the Syrian revolution to show off their commitments to these binary structures. We have political parties (I refuse to mention their names or post links or videos of their positions) that support the revolution against the secularist colour of the Syrian state; others support the revolution hoping for a neoliberal version of Syria, while a third faction voice their support for Bashar al Asad’s regime and celebrate his so claimed “anti-imperialist and anti-Israeli” stand. And some political individuals and groups stand beside the new (I claim neoliberal) constitution. We also have these forms of different political stands on Syria going out to the streets of central cities in Palestine and becoming a mini battle with verbal and physical violence.

The hegemonic narrative is of two camps reduced to two meta-narratives: One envisioning a pro-Islamic anti-Secular, anti-Asad Syria on the one hand and another of the Pro-Asad anti-imperialist Syria persuasion. This division also implies that pro-Islamic is also pro-Imperialism. It also implies that Asadist Syria is actually secular and stripped from religious sectarianism and that Bashar al Asad in specific is good for the Palestinian cause (as a Palestinian, I never could figure out this is the case) against the Israeli and U.S imperialism in the region. The fields of politics between these two camps are absented.

I choose to focus on those who always disappoint first: the Arab intellectuals of the so-called anti-imperialist position.
There is a tendency among many ‘leftists-anti-imperialists-socialists’ in the Arab world (Palestine and Lebanon and obviously in Syria) to believe that what they see on television or hear from the news about Syria is in fact external-Islamists pro-American forces destroying the stability of the socialist regime, of the great Syria that many Arabs are proud of.

This tendency, however, comes only to reaffirm this binary thinking that modernity, and the shadow of modernity that many Arab intellectuals find their comfort-zone in, brought to the world. These are binaries of ideologies that are sustained through sharp swords: that one is either is pro the Asad regime or pro U.S-Imperialism; as if one cannot generously and genuinely be against the cruelty of Asad’s military regime and against imperialist, capitalist or colonial regimes.

To my mind, this is a specific illustration of the way defeated intellectual and political positions inform and are informed by this binary discourse. It is beyond the concept of propaganda. You say ‘Syria’ and you invoke a rich political history of a hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Syria the representative of remaining Arab nationalism and the Moqawama (resistance) to the neighboring Zionist entity. You say ‘Syria’ and you relate to how so many Arab countries are sellouts to U.S imperialist regimes, but forget about the colonization of Iraq.

Yes, Syria represents all that, but its Asadist regime has also sustained a particular level of political oppression that has prevented the news of the massacres from reaching out to the world’s consciousness, and then comes the current slaughtering of thousands people and the bombardment of whole towns and cities.

This binary thinking is not only an ignorant judgment or an uninformed framing of the revolution in Syria, but it is also a defeated frame of thought. It is these internalized sentiments that claim that ‘Arabs cannot handle change’ or that ‘Syrians are not capable of leading a revolution.’

The minority of us, those of us outside Homs, Dar3a, Idlib, Hama and the longer list of all the brave Syrian towns, cities and villages, have a critical complicated humanitarian sense of both sadness and pride at the same time. A sense of honest anti-imperialist ideals as well as anti-Asad propaganda. Even the majority of Palestinians are torn about their support of the revolution in Syria and hesitant to express their full support for the Syrian people, while those same people in Syria have often showed ideological and national solidarity with people in Palestine.

Not surprisingly, being here, in Palestine, I have noticed that it is mostly people with feminist, anti-oppression, critical and freethinking ideologies who have broken this binary of “either one supports the U.S camp or the Asad camp”; they have reached a conclusion that, between Asad’s oppression and U.S imperialism, there is an invisible thin line or a lie. A lie, a hegemonic narrative, that Syria is a rule of heroes, while in fact it is a rule of the defeated hearts. The real heroes are on the fields attending one funeral after the other of men, women, and children. Sometimes whole families are killed by political suffocation.

Once, perhaps, an image was thousands words, it moved people to the streets. Today not even one thousand images can bring words to those who are sadly defeated from inside and to those who have internalized the reaction of silence: a thousand images are worth zero words.

The saying ‎’seeing is believing’ was never really accurate. People come with a frame through which they see the image. This is how you can view an image of a thoroughly bombarded city like Homs, with dead bodied everywhere and tanks invading their own lands, and pro-Asad subjects watching these images or those who are suspicious of the intention of the revolution can say:”it is external forces who have bombarded Homs and killed everyone there”!

We live in an age (perhaps a post First Gulf war age) where we have an abundance of images but an absolute lack of frame-of-thought, of anti-hegemonic thinking that knows that what we see is filtered through many oppressive-political frames.

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Me and a Gun #Jan14

hiba — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 22:00:00 +0000

Laurel Harig

In Tori Amos’ autobiographical song about surviving rape (“Me and a Gun” from her first album, Little Earthquakes, 1992), Tori talks abouther choice to wear a “slinky red thing,” and how women's susceptibility to rape is commonly perceived to have something to do with the way they dress or the places they frequent. Funny how, in the tragic story of the rape and murder of Miriam Ashkar in November, no one asked what she was wearing. Was it because, in this case, the perpetrator– a Syrian worker, all too neatly fit the sectarian demonization bill and so no further inquiry was necessary? Or, was it because she was on her way to pray in church in the early evening, her status as a “good girl” thus confirmed? What would the media have said if she were walking alone late at night, or from her boyfriend’s house? Some might have tried to shift the blame from her killer to Miriam herself, as if a woman could ever prepare for rape, or prevent it, or cause it to happen. What if Miriam were divorced or even, married? Then, the crime would pass from her own body to the honor of her husband. This is the Lebanon we live in today. It is a land where only virgins can be raped.

There is an old German saying that a woman’s place is “kinder, kuche, kirche.” (Children, kitchen, church.) It is not hard to see that this mentality is still alive and well in Lebanon. So, how is it that a woman is not safe from harm in any of these three places? (Neither when a child, at home, or on her way to church?) I am currently working on a paper on women’s role in religion in the pre-modern world. When you study history and scripture, you see that patriarchal attitudes towards women are never part of “history” or “tradition,” rather they are political tools that are deployed against women depending on political goals at the time. An example of this would be how American woman were asked to join the workforce during the 1940′s during the patriotic days of WWII only to be sent back to their homes in the 1950′s to breed the next generation of citizens to replace those killed in the war. This is similar to the status of Algerian women after the revolution who were asked to return to their kitchens after playing a vital role in the resistance rather than take up posts in a new post-colonial government. This is not all bad. If patriarchal attitudes are historical products of a time and place, this means that they can also be undone by direct political action. What if, in the spirit of Lysistrata, all wives of Lebanese politicians refused to have sex with their husbands until the new laws were passed? Nadine Labaki’s new film tries to make this point, although I doubt that Russian prostitutes are the answer.

It is to women, all of them, who suffer sexual harassment, abuse, domestic violence, rape and murder that our actions on January 14th should be dedicated, so that we don’t forget the terrible urgency of what we are doing. Lebanon currently has some of the most archaic rape laws in the world. We need new laws to create a safer world for all women residing in Lebanon, whether they are citizens, foreign domestic workers or visitors. And after the laws, we need the courage to enforce them and watch society change.

Tori Amos Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKzCxi2yf5s
Lysistrata story:

http://drama.eserver.org/plays/classical/aristophanes/lysistrata.txt

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On Why We Are Demonstrating

hiba — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 22:00:00 +0000

Paola Daher

I read an infuriating article today, a blog post that was so patronizing it made me feel sick to the stomach. The writer referred to our action as “delusional” and while he deemed our struggle as “righteous”, he did not see it going anywhere for the moment. But Behold! For his was kind enough to provide us with an alternative solution, with other priorities and other actions.

The author’s intention was probably not to minimize our struggle, or be patronizing or anything: he probably did not notice that his sickly sweet rhetoric merely felt like a paternalistic pat on the head, like someone telling you you’re cute but naïve. Like someone not really believing you had serious reasons to be angry and to demonstrate.

Which got me to think: what are we fighting for? Why are we demonstrating?

First and foremost, there’s of course the issue of rights. We are demonstrating because the state has duties towards us, obligations it has signed on in an International Convention (CEDAW), voluntarily binding itself to respect, protect and fulfill them, rights that we can see are not being respected, protected and fulfilled. Hence, by making ourselves heard we are simply putting into action our democratic rights. We are neither demonstrating because we are spoilt brats, nor because we don’t have anything else to do or because we are delusional naïve nymphs living in Lala land. Rather, our carefully thought-out collective action is our weapon to put our government in front of its obligations. Its obligations is our rights, and it is our responsibility to demand them, to claim them, for the shameful rape laws are not going to be cancelled by themselves; and neither is the Violence Against Women Bill ever going to materialize and be adopted out of thin air. We demonstrate because the numbers 478, 488 and 489 (criminal code provisions imposing higher sanctions on women found guilty of adultery than on men) 503, 504 and 522 (laws pertaining to rape) cannot be read without a shudder. We demonstrate because of the large Violence Against Women Bill-shaped gaping hole within the Lebanese legislative apparel. We demonstrate because religious authorities are playing deaf and blind to that very simple fact: there are women in Lebanon, and we are not walking wombs. Rather, we are human beings who saw evil, heard evil and witnessed you speak your evil.

So we’re taking to the streets, armed with an international Convention, armed with laws and principles and a whole set of values that we think are worth sharing. Several people and bloggers seem to think that we’re ahead of the game, that before obtaining a change in the laws we need to establish a civil state in Lebanon then we’ll be able to see what we can do about women’s rights. It’s the same old song: women are selfish for demanding what is theirs, they should wait until the whole system changes until we can tackle women’s rights. To which I answer 1) Women Won’t Wait 2) why not think of changes in laws with regards to women as an opening door to a wider change in the system? Advocating for women’s rights is advocating for a more egalitarian society, it doesn’t mean favouring one injustice over another. The way I see it, turning Lebanon into a civil state will take longer than adopting the Violence Against Women law: what are we supposed to do until we reach that point? Sit around and pray?

The demonstration however even goes beyond obtaining our rights. It has become a question of reclaiming our very streets, each corner of our city until we find that we can walk around without fear or of uneasiness because of stares, glares, insults, offensive comments or unwanted physical contacts that is just plain sexual abuse. We’re demonstrating now because our cup is full: we’re tired of unlit zawarib where even the less sporty of us turns into a sprint champion until we reach our cars, we’re tired of feeling as if we’d like our breasts to be invisible, we’re tired to be harassed just because we are women. By pounding the streets of Beirut we’re making a strong statement to those who would like to see us off them, tucked away in our homes that sometimes are more dangerous that battlegrounds, as if under house arrests: look at us, we’re women and human, we want our dignity and safety.

We’re demonstrating because this way we get to say our stories, with our words, our chants, our actions, with no self-appointed authority (religious or otherwise) telling us we’re asking too much, too soon, too aggressively.

Our bodies are ours, and no one but us gets to dictate what we should do with it or whom and when we decide to give it to. Our voice are ours too, and no one but us dictates when and how we should use it.

So on Saturday the 14^th, I will pick up my banner and I will shout for my rights until my voice gets hoarse. But I promise that if you see us on the streets, and still have questions, then I will use it to talk to you.

And maybe then, you’ll walk with me too.

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How About We Listen to Sex Workers, For Once?

Azadeh Faramarziha — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 08:45:03 +0000

Sawt al Niswa

Paola Daher

When I first listened to Morgane Merteuil, general secretary of the Syndicat du Travail Sexuel (STRASS) (French Union of Sex Work) commenting on the new project of law currently being examined in France to criminalize sex workers’ clients, I had to admit I was intrigued.

There she was, strongly condemning the prospective law, and she used an argument that stuck with me: We would like people to stop thinking of us as victims, as persons to be pitied, we are sex workers and our rights deserve to be respected. The current law in France makes prostitution legal but doesn’t regulate it, leaving sex workers with no adapted and appropriate legal protection to speak of, while pimping and soliciting are forbidden, leaving street sex workers in a great state of vulnerability. Merteuil based her statement on human rights, and more precisely, on the Declaration on the Rights of Sex Workers in Europe, a document signed by more than 200 sex workers and like-minded organisations. The declaration underlines the WHO and UNAIDS statements that criminalizing sex workers only drives the activity underground, allowing all kinds of violence and harmful practices on sex workers, preventing public health policies (especially with regards to HIV and AIDS prevention and STIs) to be correctly implemented. The message of the declaration is two fold: first, that sex workers are citizens and as such should be treated as equally before the law as the rest of the population, which is currently not the case, and that sex work is work and that as such, it should be regulated by labour laws.

The debate is being fiercely held in Europe as some feminist groups and anti-trafficking organisations support the abolitionist stance, stating that a body is not a good that can be sold, while other feminists and public health associations answer back that abolitionists make a confusion between trafficking and pimping networks and non forced prostitution, stating that their bodies is their own and that they should be allowed to do whatever they please with it.

Outside of the ownership of the body debate and whether it can be sold or not, the question that nagged me was the point of trafficked women forced into prostitution. Looking at it superficially, and when I heard Merteuil’s statement, I instinctively thought: very well for women who go freely into prostitution, but I bet the woman tricked into sex work will be glad her clients are prosecuted. Such a trail of thought lasted for just about long enough until I looked into the issue a little deeper and that discrepancies in the law and its application emerged. Indeed, foreign sex workers arrested for soliciting do not benefit from the same procedure as French ones or people holding a residency card, and the issue of their trials often results in them being re-conducted to their home country, where the vicious circle of trafficking can start all over again, or the result can even be a pure and simple interdiction to be on French territory. The same goes for several European countries such as Sweden. Besides, in France, a trafficked sex worker can only be seen as a survivor of trafficking if she cooperates with the police and denounces her pimp, which is basically conditioning a right to an informing system, something that might be very dangerous to do, pimps often threatening sex workers to attack and beat and rape them and their families back home. Sweden, one the first countries to criminalize sex workers clients, boasts that street based sex work has now decreased in half and that the country is not a destination for trafficked sex workers anymore: first of all, I’d like to know the percentage of clandestine sex work now taking place in the country, and I’m just wondering how exactly shifting the problem to another destination actually solves it.

People who freely go into prostitution and their claims are often dismissed because they’re seen as a privileged minority with no sense of the terrible realities trafficked sex workers have to face. However, such a statement is only made to silence their voices and is yet another product of a moralistic and judgmental stance. Rather, solidarity with trafficked women is high on their agenda, as exemplified by article 5 of the Declaration on the Rights of Sex Workers in Europe that stipulates at point 11 that ‘Measures should be taken to provide appropriate assistance and protection to victims of trafficking, forced labour & slavery like practices with full respect for the protection of their human rights. Provision of residency permits should be provided to ensure effective access to justice and legal remedies, including compensation, irrespective of their willingness to collaborate with law enforcement. Trafficked persons must not be returned to situations in countries that will lead to their re-trafficking or result in other harms’.

Protecting trafficked women from forced sex doesn’t reside in criminalizing clients or sex workers: if the primaries concerned, sex workers, tell us so, then it’s probably time we listen to them. Besides, criminalizing and preventing and outlawing will only worsen the already high rate of violence and murder sex workers have to face by making the whole industry go underground, allowing organised crime to take over. The issue of smuggling human beings under false pretence and trafficking is a global, systemic one: to efficiently tackle it, economic systems and policies have to be rethought, non-discriminatory policies, laws and procedures have to be put in place in all relevant countries to ensure an appropriate response respectful of each person’s human rights and broad campaigns have to be made available for victims to know where to safely seek help if they need it.

After all, I don’t know why I even pondered on the populist nature of the abolitionist law: I should have known, me the Lebanese whose country doesn’t have a proper legal regime regulating sex work, thus allowing horrific folders of rows and rows of women abused by their pimping networks for the sex tourist to choose from, these folders only the tip of the underground abusive sex industry iceberg.

Resources:

http://samichaiban.wordpress.com/2011/05/31/entre-sexe-et-argent-la-prostitution-un-veritable-fleau-au-liban-dossier-liban-lorient-le-jour/

http://www.travaildusexe.com/?q=abolitionnisme-racisme

http://www.strass-syndicat.org/declaration.pdf

http://site.strass-syndicat.org/nos-droits/

http://fr.euronews.net/2010/07/02/trafic-humain-et-prostitution-140-000-victimes-en-europe/

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رزان مرّت من هنا

Azadeh Faramarziha — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 22:00:00 +0000

Sawt al Niswa

Sara Emiline AbuGhazal

معطف الممانعة الاحمر

‎ له أناقته الخاصة، فهو يحمي من التغيير ويدفئ القلوب الخائفة والمرعوبة من إسرائيل، فتسكّنها وتهدئ من روعها. معطف الممانعة يعطيك قوى خاصة، فتستطيع التنظير على الثورة السورية لأيام متواصلة، حتى ولم تكن سوريّاً، ولم تعش هناك ولم تُذل هناك، ولم تقهر هناك. معطف الممانعة يعطيك الصلاحيّة ان تُنظّر على السوريين أنفسهم وتلغي تجاربهم الخاصة وتجارب أجدادهم على الارض. معطف الممانعة يعطيك هذه الجرأة. يعطيك قلب الاسد. تستطيع ان تذهب الى كل الاماكن دون ادنى تردد، المعطف يقي من الرصاص ويليق بكل الفصول والمناخات.”تم اعتقال رزان”. يأتي الخبر، تضع فتاة ما يدها على فمها، ”هوريفاينج ” وتضع معطفها الاحمر عليها وتمشي في حال سبيلها، المعطف يحيل دون الشعور بالذنب او مراجعة الذات .

ترتدي معطف الممانعة الاحمر، حين تؤمن بأن الانظمة تحميك من اسرائيل لا الشعوب ، ترتديه حين ترعبك فكرة الحرية لأي كان، في حق الشعوب في تقرير مصيرها وتحريره بالطرق الناجعة. ترتدي معطف الممانعة الاحمر، اذا كنت تخاف من التغيير ومواجهة الظلم، حين تريد ان يتركك النظام في حالك، يترك لك فلسطين كي تعمل على تحريرها ويعزلها ويعزلك معها. فلسطين يبدأ تحريرها من دمشق ومن بيروت ومن عمان تحديدا، لا من جولان او الجنوب. معطف الممانعة الاحمر يحميك كفرد، فلا تضطر ان تفكر بغيرك، فتفكر بنفسك وموقعك وامتيازاتك ويجعلك تحس بالاختلاف لا ان تكون الاختلاف. معطف الممانعة الاحمر، أنيق ويمنحك شعور بأنك بطل خارق، فهو يوهمك بأن لك قوى خارقة، كأن تعتقد السياسة التي تنادي بها هي اخلاقية اكثر من غيرها، وانك في مأمن من الشبيحة والقوى الامنية. يوهمك المعطف انك خارج النظام، رغم أنّ ارتدائك له، يجعلك أداة له، فتخوّن كما يخوّن هو، وتهدد كما يُهدد هو، واحيانا تَضرِب كما يَضرب هو. ومرات اخرى، تحاول ترطيب الاجواء فتتوسط لدى الشبيحة، بأن يدعو “صديق لك” وشأنه. معطف الممانعة الاحمر، يوهمك انك في الوسط، لكنه لا يخبرك انك في الوسط الاقرب الى الدماء.

كل البنات نجوم، والسوريات قمرهن .
‎١٥٠معتقلة + رزان في السجون السورية، قد تخرج البعض منهن قبل الأخريات، وقد لا تخرج البعض منهن أبدا. في خروج السوريات تحديدا الى الشارع دليلاً على سعة الثورة لتحمل الم الاكثر وجعا في مجتمعاتنا الذكورية، ان يتقبّل الأب والأخ والصديق والزوج منهم حريّتها كجزء مكمّل لحريته، كأن يعيد التفكير البعض منهم، ولو بعجقة الثورة والاحداث، بحرية الانثى/المرأة السورية، وضرورة مشاركتها في تحرير ذاتها كمواطن اولاً وكجسد ثانياً .

‎لا أدري كيف يشعر الناس حين يختفي اولادهنّ، لكني اعرف كيف اشعر في ظل اعتقال رزان. الخوف وحده سيد الموقف. الخوف على صديقة رأيتها تخوض تجربتها السياسيّة في بيروت وتتعلم من أخطائها. على عكس الكثيرات منّا، تُجاهر رزان في اخطائها وتفخر في قدرتها على ذلك وهذا بالتحديد مصدر قوّتها الشخصية. إعتقال رزان وصديقاتها يمس العديدات منا في القلب. اولاً لاننا لم نجعل من بيروت مكان آمن لهم ولنا في طبيعة الحال، ولم نستطيع في نفس الوقت ان نكون اقرب لما يحصل في سوريا .

إنّ خبر اعتقال رزان، بالنسبة للاصدقاء في بيروت، يجب أن يتحوّل، من خبر إلى دعوة لأولئك الذين ”يتمنّعون ” عن المطالبة في اطلاق سراحها بالتفكير مليا فيما يجري، في الباحة الخلفية لبلدهم، ما يجري في عكار وسوريا . حقيقة الامر، وبالرغم من خوفي الشديد على سلامة رزان وأمانها، أوّد ان يكون خبر إعتقالها فرصة للافراد الممانعين، في صون حرياتهم وحريات غيرهم، في غسل ايديهم الملطخة بدماء النظام . فمن يريد تحرير فلسطين، عليه أن يعلم أنّ طريق فلسطين تبدأ في تحرير رزان وغيرها من المعتقلات والسجون السورية، ان يرى اليافطة الكبيرةعلى طريق العودة الى فلسطين : رزان مرّت من هنا.

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شيء اوإثنان

Azadeh Faramarziha — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 22:00:00 +0000

Sawt al Niswa

Sara Emiline AbuGhazal

لا أدري مرّاتًا لماذا اكتب، أو لماذا يكون القمر جميلا دائمًا، هلالاً كان ام بدرٌ. لا ادري اذااحببت فعلًا في حياتي أم لم احبّ، ولا أدري اذا كان عدد الكتب التي أقرؤها في الاسبوع، دليلًا على تعاستي او حاجتي الماسةلمعرفة اي شيئ عن اي شيئ.

هناك نهارات مثل اليوم،أقرّر فيها أنّ القمر يتحكم بيوبمزاجي. وان ألم معدتي من جراء مشاهدتي لإمرأةعجوز( في منطقة الجناح تجرّ علبة عليها تشكلسوشوكولا غندور، وقد وضعت على طرفي العربةعلمين ظريفين لحركة امل وحزب الله) امر جيد. فيكهذا يوم يصبح العيش في المدينة هذه امرا لا يطاق (تمرّ الآن امامي العجوز)، ولا اعلم ماذا افعل؟ أأشتريمنها بعشرة الالف ليرة؟ اصوّرها وانشرها علىالفايسبوك أسألها عن وضعيتها المفضلة للحصولعلى شفقة)؟ ربما اعتذر لها، “عفوًا تِيتا، حين اسكتُكلّ يوم عن ما يحصل في البلد، تضطرين الى جعلنفسك انسانًا حين نشفق عليه، نحسّ اننا إنسانافضل منه،أو اننا نحس والسلام. من الجميل احيانًا لويستطيع الفرد منا ان يصفع نفسه بكفّ او اثنين كي نتوقف عن هذه الترهات تحديدًا.

في يوم كهذا اودّ لو اعيش عوارض ما قبل الطمث، فتزول حساسيّتي الزائدة، أو لو إنّهاتمطر وأعاني من اكتئاب الشتاء، من حنين عاديّ ناتج عن فراغ، من حزن عابر، قصة ما،سبب ما، يجعلني انظر الى الاحياء التي تعانق منزلي في الطابق الحادي عشر، وأنابصق عليها وعلى الشارع وفوق رؤوس المارّين، ربما سأحسّ بقليلا من التحسن، ربماسأشعر اني قمت بأمر شديد الحماقة واخبرك عنه، ربما ستبتسمين، على فكرة احبحين تبتسمين بصدق.

هناك نهارات مثل اليوم، اعتقد فيه أن الحرب مقبلة بعد خمس دقائق، واحسّ بالتوترواسمع واصغي الى الضجيج خارجاً. اطمئن حين اسمع صراخًا وزمامير واصوات سياراتتهدر. اشعل سيجارتي واحاول ان افكّر في كيف اتفادى الحرب، كم كيلو من الحمّصوالعدس لتكفيني سنوات، هل سيكون هناك انترنت؟ كيف يصبح استعمال الفايسبوكفي الحروب؟ اعتقد ان التوتير فعال اكثر عند الحروب ، كيف سأشرّج خطي؟ ربما عليّ أنأثبّته، ماذا لو لم استطع دفع الفاتورة على الوقت. سأحوّله الى هاتف ارضي، هذامضمون في نهارات كهذه، اعيد تكرار الجملة التالية:”سارة ما في حرب .وانت مش غادةالسمان لتحطّي خط ارضي”. في نهارات كهذه، اذكّر نفسي اني استطيع دائما ان أكونعلى الفايسبوك وان اضغط على زر لايك، اي لايك، حتى اصبح أقلّ توترا. فيديو جديد عنجثث في سوريا . لايك.

في نهارات كهذا، افقد السيطرة على برستيجي الاجتماعي، وأهلوس وأعلم اني قداصدر الاحباط. لايك. او اني اعاني من اكتئاب غريب النوع، إكتئاب العجز والعزلة والفرديةالمطلقة. إكتئاب ناتج عن القمع المباشر والواضح والخفي، عن اننا ممنوعات وممنوعينمن شيئ او اثنين. لايك.

في نهار مثل هذه النهارات، افكر بشيئ او اثنين، كأن انشر نصًّا شخصيًا، كأن لا اذهبالى اجتماع حتى لا اضطرّ أن أحسّ ان الاجتماعات التي اراك فيها تذكرني بالاكتئابالتي تسبيبنه لي، كأن يخسر الفرد صديقًا في لعبة لم يكن لاعبًا فيها اصلا، كأن يصبحالايمان امراً يدعو للملل.

عن النهارات كمثل هذا النهار شيئ او اثنين، كأن الكتابة متعةً أو لعبة او شيئ منالاثنان .

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Who Needs Women’s Rights Anyways?

Lamia Moghnie — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 08:15:00 +0000

Sarah Hijazi

Almost everytime you talk to a Lebanese man about women’s rights, the typical response is: “Women’s right in Lebanon? It’s men who should be asking for their rights nowadays!”

It was my impression that most women find that level of analysis fairly insulting. So two days ago, I wandered around AUB’s campus to hear what female students think about their rights as women in Lebanon.

Apparently, we, the Lebanese people, are very liberal and open-minded. We are the Switzerland of the Middle East. Our country is a free country where everybody is treated equally and with respect. So, what do we have to say about the fact that one migrant worker is found dead every week? Unfortunately for them, they are not Lebanese.

Moreover, I was told, Lebanese women have all the rights they need. What about the law that prevents women from giving their nationality to their husband and kids? We don’t need it because who would want to marry a NON-Lebanese anyway? (ewww)

Indeed, women are very equal to men in Lebanon. For example, in engineering classes, the female students are often ignored. “When my classmates look at me, I can see their eyes asking: ‘What is she doing here? Shouldn’t she be in a Biology or Nutrition class?’” says Rania Feghali, a 19 year-old girl majoring in computer engineering at AUB. “Every time the professor asks a question, he doesn’t expect us girls to answer,” added Samira, 21.

It is said that women have no limits in our country, except that they don’t know how to drive, and they certainly shouldn’t walk in the streets alone at night. Amani Fakih, a 20 year-old studying nursing at AUB, is tired – surprisingly? – of all the judgments and limitations women endure everyday. “When I told my friends I wanted a motorcycle, they started laughing at me and told me that women must learn how to drive a car before starting to think about buying a motorcycle.” She continued, frustrated, “I’m sick of men offering to park my car for me!”

Moreover, I was so excited to hear, women should not complain about being verbally harassed on the streets every day. It is a merely new type of flirting and, as such, they should enjoy it. “Women like it, it increases their self confidence,” claims Fatima, a 21 years-old chemistry major at AUB. “Anyway, toltish is in the men’s blood. They can’t control it and it’s not harming anybody,” she adds, clearly concluding this from her chemistry and biology classes, I’m guessing. Zeina Haidar, who had to end her internship because of the verbal abuse leveled at her every day, must strongly agree with Fatima.

At first, I was gratified to hear that women are denied the same job opportunities as men in Lebanon, until Rawan Hakawati, also a Chemistry major in AUB, explained to me all the reasons for this discrimination. “This is due to the fact that women physically and biologically are different from men. Consequently, a woman should not be aiming for the same jobs as men. Personally, I wouldn’t trust a female doctor and I wouldn’t want to see women in the army!” She turns her head and looks at her friend who is a premedical student. “Don’t worry, you can work with kids or something.” Her friend, like myself, felt immediately better.

Women, I was told again and again, are treated with respect and admiration in our country. Nothing stands between them and their ambitions except, of course, if their ambitions don’t include getting married or taking care of their kids and their husband.

Finally, I found Yara Kfouri, 19 years old and majoring in English Linguistics, who tells it like it is: “We live in a patriarchal society, where everything is controlled by men. Women can’t have custody over their children in case they want to divorce. Honor killing is still legal while it should be banned completely. We need to make some real changes here. We claim to be an educated society, everyone is highly educated and yet we have such a backwards way of life!”

Yara is right; we are an extremely educated society: 18 out 20 women I interviewed had not heard of the nationality law and didn’t know that toltish is a type of sexual harassment.

But yes, we are very educated when it comes to fashion, to the latest plastic surgeries that can be done, to where to go out at night and what cars to drive. However, we don’t consider it crucial to know about our rights, our laws and the difference between stereotypes and facts.

In other words, Lebanese women are equal in all that matters. We shouldn’t be bothered by all these little things. Having less political power, money and rights shouldn’t worry us. It’s not disturbing for a lot of Lebanese men, so why should it disturb us – right?

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Women’s voices from the Anti-Sectarianism Demonstration: “The revolution starts with us”

Lamia Moghnie — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 08:15:00 +0000

By Hisham Achkar

Sarah Hijazi

Sunday, February 27, witnessed the first sparks of the Revolution Against Sectarianism in Lebanon. An estimated 3,000 people took to the streets to protest against the sectarian regime. Despite the dreadful weather, they were all there, shouting in the name of freedom.

People came from different regions of Lebanon under heavy rains to express their rage against the system they are living in. Their voice was louder than any storm.

Aida and her husband Hussein came from Damour with their 11 year-old child to support the cause. “When we heard about the protest, we were very excited to join,” Aida said. “The stormy weather didn’t stop us. Actually, this storm was a kind of a small challenge compared to what we, the Lebanese people who are claiming to want to end the sectarian system, will encounter in order to reach our goal.”

The protesters were from different ages and from different backgrounds, but they were all united by their strive towards change. The demonstration was strengthened by the notable presence of women, who were as numerous as men. They were all filled with energy, hope and revolutionary ideas.

Raghida Hashem, mother of three, was very clear about her vision: “Women are the key to this revolution. We, as mothers, have a duty towards Lebanon. We must raise our children against the current system. My three kids are with me today because they need to learn how to fight for themselves. The revolution starts with us,” she continued, shouting, “and we should all encourage our kids, the citizens of tomorrow, to fight against racism and sectarianism.”

Samira, a 45 year-old housewife, agreed, explaining that she participated in the protest because she wants a better future for her kids, where they won’t have to face any kind of discrimination or racism.

Dalal Al Barazi, a writer and a researcher, targeted the rampant corruption and abuse as motivating her to demonstrate. “All Lebanese people must join this protest,” she said, “because we need to make a change. The situation is becoming unbearable.”

Despite the rains, the crowd was generally euphoric. Laura Asmar, an AUB student, was very optimistic about the situation. She believes that that more than half of the Lebanese people want to end this regime, but that they didn’t attend the protest because they are hopeless. “Today,” she added, “we are showing these people that they shouldn’t lose hope and that they are not alone. Hopefully, in the next protest, some of them will break their silence and join us. And this is how we will end the sectarian system.”

Rouwaida Mroueh, a 24 year-old activist, saw this and future protests as a way to show the world – and other Lebanese – that the Lebanese people don’t only respond to the calls of the politicians. “We are not all followers,” she said, “some of us can think by ourselves.”

But it was Nour Fawaz, 6 months pregnant, who best demonstrated the protesters’ dedication to the bringing down the sectarian system. She walked the entire length of the demonstration with only her umbrella protecting her from the heavy rain, she explained, because she refuses to give birth to a child in a country where he will be judged according to his religion. “He doesn’t even get to choose his religion,” Nor explained, “he is born with a predetermined religion and then he has to suffer because of it.”

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If it’s all wrong, then it’s all got to change: Why sectarianism is bad for women

Lamia Moghnie — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 08:03:00 +0000

By Hisham Achkar

Sonya Knox

It’s no secret that Lebanon’s sectarian system is bad for, well, almost everyone unless you’re an entitled clan leader perpetuating the patriarchy. And it’s no secret that the sectarian system works by pitching various components of Lebanon’s ever-numerous minority groups against each other, while the erstwhile leaders reap the profits.

But there is one group which, at 52% of the Lebanese population, is actually a flat-out majority. And that group, in terms of their income, their employment, their access to health care, their representation in the unions and the local and national government, and their legal rights, is perpetually the most shafted of all.

What it comes down to, plain and simple, is that the sectarian regime is bad for women.

As the only majority group in Lebanon, women earn less than men. By a lot. In 2009, Lebanese women’s average annual salary was $2,430, compared to men’s $7,789[i]. That means that for every dollar a Lebanese man earns, a Lebanese woman earns 31 cents.

In 2002, Lebanon was ranked 153^rd out of 163 countries in terms of women’s rate of economic activity[ii] – roughly, only one-third of Lebanese women are working[iii]. In terms of people who want to work but can’t find a job, more women (9.6%) than men (7.4%) are unemployed [iv].

When they are employed, working conditions are not good for women. Women’s incomes are unfairly taxed, as they cannot access the tax breaks provided to married men or to the male head of household, regardless of her marital status or the support she provides her family[v].

At only seven weeks, Lebanon’s maternity leave is the shortest in the Arab region and, although women cannot be fired for getting pregnant, their employment can be terminated for “other” reasons throughout their pregnancy and maternity leave[vi]. Moreover, only 46% of all women (and only 17% of extremely poor women)[vii] are covered by even one type of health insurance.

When it comes to political engagement and representation for women, Lebanon flat out sucks. There are only four women in Parliament, out of 128 seats, and only 12 women were even candidates for the 2009 elections. These figures are lower than the average for the Middle East and North Africa, which already boasts the lowest average in the world [viii]. Moreover, the last Cabinet only had one woman out of 32 Ministers; the first ever woman Minister in the Cabinet was in 2004.

In terms of holding positions of decision-making, the situation is replicated in the public and sectors: As of 2008, only 3.8% of Lebanese ambassadors are women, 13.6% hold the position of director-general, and only 0.4% of all municipalities are headed by a woman[ix]. As of 2000, no woman held a leadership position in any of Lebanon’s trade unions or professional associations, and there was only one female dean in a Lebanese university[x]. It should be pointed out, however, that 45% of NGOs in Lebanon are administered by women[xi]. Go figure.

And, of course, Lebanese law discriminates against women. Lacking a civil personal status code, Lebanese women, like men, are ruled by religious courts, all 18 of which are discriminatory against women in terms of marriage, divorce, inheritance, etc.[xii][xiii] Lebanese women still cannot yet pass on their nationality to their children or to their husbands. The Lebanese Penal Code ensures reduced sentence if a husband murders his wife due to alleged adultery, and provides a reduced sentence for all other crimes relating to “honor.”

The point, sisters, is simple: The Lebanese sectarian system has been, and will always be, bad for women, and the only way you are going to claim your equal rights is when the system itself is changed.

So, where were you on Sunday? Many of you were out demonstrating and getting soaked and shouting – and, sisters, you sounded fabulous. But where were your demands? How can the revolution bring “bread, freedom and national dignity” if half of the country is legally and economically second-class? We all know that taking down the sectarian system is linked to combating poverty, allowing civil marriage, establishing civil rights for Palestinian refugees, ensuring a living wage to men and women, guaranteeing fair working conditions to all, providing decent health care to all… And none of these, not one, can be achieved without the active participation of women. And none of these, not one, will be sufficient if, at the end, women are still poorer, under-employed, disenfranchised, and legally discriminated against.

This March 8 is the 100^th anniversary of International Women’s Day. Come to the Anti-Sectarianism campaign open meeting on March 6 with your demands, and then come March 8 to Take Back the Night. Because it’s the same fight.

If it’s all wrong, then it’s all got to change. And that change begins now.

[i] ESCWA. 2009, Women’s Control Over Economic Resources and Access to Financial Resources. Beirut: ESCWA, E/ESCWA/ECW/2009/2/Rev.1

[ii] CRTD-A. 2006, Caught in Contradiction: A Profile of Gender Equality and Economy in Lebanon. Beirut: CRTD-A.

[iii] World Bank. 2008a, The Environment for Women’s Entrepreneurship in the Middle East and North Africa Region

[iv] UNDP, MOSA, CAS. 2006, Living Conditions of Households – The National Survey of Household Living Conditions, 2004

[v] ESCWA, 2009

[vi] ILO. 2010. Maternity at Work: A review of national legislation. Findings from the ILO Database of Conditions of Work and Employment Laws.

[vii] UNDP, MOSA, CAS. 2008, Poverty, Growth and Income Distribution in Lebanon

[viii] World Bank, 2008b

[ix] World Bank, 2008b

[x] CRTD-A, 2006

[xi] UNDP, 2006

[xii] UNDP. 2009a. National Human Development Report, Lebanon 2008-2009: Towards a Citizens’ State

[xiii] UNDP. 2009b. Challenges to Human Security in the Arab Countries: The Arab Human Development Report

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