Some weeks ago I was sitting in a café along the Zamalek corniche
with an Egyptian friend when the conversation turned, as many seem to do, to
sexual harassment. It wouldn’t be your
fault even if you walked naked in the street, she said evenly. Because even when you’re fully clothed, he
sees you naked.
This is the essence of one slogan in HarassMap’s recent online ad campaign. One of the many
organizations that has recently sprouted up to fight this ugly phenomenon,
HarassMap collects details of harassment from the victims via text message and
superimposes them on a map of the city. Since most women do not, of course,
report incidents to the site, it gives only a rough idea at this point of where
the centers of vile activity are located. But at the very least, it gives
people a visual.
Here are the new slogans, which aim to tear down the common excuses
employed by harassment apologists:
If the cause of
harassment is delayed marriage, why does the father harass?
If the cause of
harassment is illiteracy, why does the teacher harass?
If the cause of harassment
is sexual repression, why does the 7-year-old harass?
If the cause of
harassment is the way a woman dresses, why is the woman in niqab harassed?
If the cause of
harassment is poverty, why does the CEO harass?
If ignoring
harassment makes it go away, why has it not disappeared after years of silence?
The Arabic version of HarassMap's ad campaign
I’ve heard all of these excuses, and recently saw “The reason for harassment is your clothing”
(Sabab el taharrosh lebsek)
scrawled on the wall of the Gamal Abdel Nasser metro station.
We watched a film in my Arab feminism class earlier this semester called Four Women of Egypt. The documentary
records the conversations of four middle-aged women in the mid-1990s: a labor
and peasant organizer, an Islamist theater critic, a Christian journalist, and
a Francophile novelist. All four are close, if combative, friends, and two met
in prison. Watching the film and doing the other readings for my class, most of
which date to the 1990s, it strikes me how much seems to have changed for women
activists since then. Specifically (and obviously) the Internet has completely
changed what kind of coordination is possible, and led to new kinds of
projects, like HarassMap, that were not conceivable 15 years ago.
The Internet is also how I found out about International Women’s Day
(March 8). Honestly, I’m not sure I knew such a thing existed until I moved to
Egypt, and there was far more online buzz about it among my Arab friends than
the Americans. The Uprising of Women in the Arab World, the pan-Arab online
umbrella site I posted about a few months ago, announced its on-the-ground
initiative in 8 countries to celebrate the day. In each participating Arab
city, a giant banner was unfurled overlooking a major thoroughfare. Each
featured at least one large woman’s face, forcing passersby (as the site said)
to look her in the eye. Here in Egypt, the banner on the side of Madbouli
Bookstore in Talaat Harb Square read: “I
am with the uprising of women in the Arab World because woman is the womb of
revolution.”
Women may well be the womb of the revolution, but at the heart of
the action assault cases have skyrocketed. An extraordinarily powerful video (see below) was released by the group Operation Anti-Sexual Harassment soon after the
anniversary of the revolution this year. It shows the chillingly methodical
mass rape of a female protester who is just out of sight of the camera. After
this came out, several other women published their own stories of assault in
Tahrir during the same two-week period. A couple of these were volunteers with
Op Anti-SH themselves, sucked into bloodthirsty mobs while trying to save other
women. Were these assaults organized? It seems hard to believe given the chaos
of the square, but the strategic precision of the rapists is shocking. But by
whom? And why? Some activists say it is to scare women away from political
protests, but no one seems to have more details. The responses of the Shura
Council, the upper and only current house of Parliament, were appalling. Said
one representative: “By getting herself involved in such circumstances, the
woman has 100% responsibility.”
Public art like the International Women's Day initiative, "Graffiti Harimi" and Women on Walls is, I think, one of the most promising ways to combat the degrading views toward women that lead some men to participate in this kind of mass assault. Since the revolution, Cairo's streets have blossomed into color with revolutionary graffiti. But women began to notice that they were conspicuously absent. Even when graffiti slogans are meant to discourage sexual harassment, they tend to appeal to men's sense of masculinity rather than empowering or honoring women. "Estargel w ehmeeha" is one slogan I've seen recently: Man up and protect her. But the woman-run projects I mentioned above are part of a truly exciting effort to "reclaim public space", as one participant in Graffiti Harimi claims in the excellent video below, and to reinforce the idea that women will not be bullied into hiding at home. Even the title "Graffiti Harimi," she says, attempts to recast the word "Harimi" (think "harem") -- which has the negative connotation of ownership of women. Likewise, the slogans they use may be traditionally used to cast women in a negative light; they try to pair them with images that transform them into ones that cast women as strong and resilient.
Trigger warning: this is a really tough video to watch. But it is also important, and woke a lot of people up to this terrifying phenomenon that began happening with alarming regularity this winter.
Public art like the International Women's Day initiative, "Graffiti Harimi" and Women on Walls is, I think, one of the most promising ways to combat the degrading views toward women that lead some men to participate in this kind of mass assault. Since the revolution, Cairo's streets have blossomed into color with revolutionary graffiti. But women began to notice that they were conspicuously absent. Even when graffiti slogans are meant to discourage sexual harassment, they tend to appeal to men's sense of masculinity rather than empowering or honoring women. "Estargel w ehmeeha" is one slogan I've seen recently: Man up and protect her. But the woman-run projects I mentioned above are part of a truly exciting effort to "reclaim public space", as one participant in Graffiti Harimi claims in the excellent video below, and to reinforce the idea that women will not be bullied into hiding at home. Even the title "Graffiti Harimi," she says, attempts to recast the word "Harimi" (think "harem") -- which has the negative connotation of ownership of women. Likewise, the slogans they use may be traditionally used to cast women in a negative light; they try to pair them with images that transform them into ones that cast women as strong and resilient.
Overall, positive messages -- "No to harassment," "My body is free", etc. But also the appeal to manliness: "Man up and protect her." (Mohamed Mahmoud St.)
In my Egyptian film class last week, we watched the 2010 movie 678. It is the story of a shy, veiled
young woman who faces physical sexual harassment every day on the bus. She
begins spearing the genitals of the men who rub against her with razor blades.
Her story then intersects with that of two other women of different social classes
who have been violently assaulted, one of whom insists for the first time on
bringing her case to court. Our teacher, a woman, told us that it was the first
time she’d had the courage to teach this film. The issues were just too
sensitive. Mentioning the word harassment was taboo.
If you're looking for a bellwether for social trends (and taboos), look no further than Cairo University. When my feminism professor graduated in the late 1970s, she says, there was not a hijab in sight on campus. Maybe in poor or rural areas -- but not in a university. Today, more than 90% (she says 99%) of Muslim students are veiled. Empirical evidence - a walk around campus with my roommates - confirms this. The old buildings scattered around still have about them a dilapidated grandness: domes, marble staircases, bronze busts of dead poets and scientists. It happened that the day we visited fell in the middle of student government elections, so the grounds were filled with booths representing different student parties. Each party had large poster boards set up along the walkways advertising its candidates with their names and photos. But on the posters for one party, Shabab Bokra ("Youth of Tomorrow"), the women's photos were replaced with identical cartoon avatars (veiled, of course), while the male candidates' photos were shown as normal. Hmm. This smelled of the Salafist Al Nour party tactic in the 2011 parliamentary elections, when all the women's faces -- they were required to run female candidates under a quota system -- were replaced with flowers.
In contrast with the creeping conservatism I observed at the university, a visit to the Nazra Institute for Feminist Studies proved that ideas are evolving in both directions simultaneously. Along with my Arab Feminism class, I met with the executive directors of the center at their airy, spacious apartment in the appropriately-named leafy neighborhood of Garden City. Nazra was founded in 2005 by young men and women who felt the old feminist groups were too focused on development and not on radical ideas or on politics. When they tried to register as an NGO, the application was sent back by the government, which said that "nesawy" ("feminist"), used in the organization's name, was not a word -- thus they must have meant "nesaa'ey" (adjectival form of "women's"). These days, Nazra uses terms like "gender mainstreaming" to talk about its training programs for female candidates, who must not be affiliated with either the old National Democratic Party (NDP) or with an Islamist Party to qualify. Nazra also talks candidly about sexual assault and especially homosexuality in ways that are extremely rare here. Nowhere else in Egypt have I heard someone say the words "queers" or "vaginal penetration" without blinking an eye; but nowhere else, for that matter, runs "sexuality schools" either. The organization aims to be an open space for dialogue about these sensitive and extremely taboo issues. Although one of the directors seemed very pessimistic when asked about the headway he thought they'd made in changing the public discourse, the very existence here in Cairo of such a place seems a brave mark of progress.
Meanwhile, far away in New York, a showdown was brewing at the United Nations. In mid-March, the UN Commission on the Status of Women brought forth a declaration condemning violence against women and outlining steps to be taken to fight it. In debate, a close advisor to President Morsi named Pakinam Sharkawy (a woman) condemned the document as being out of line with cultural and religious norms. (It undermined the family and took questionable stances on issues like abortion and homosexuality, and wrongly counted marital rape as rape, according to the Brotherhood.) When it came time for the final vote, though, a parallel delegation emerged. Mervat Tallawy, the Egyptian representative to the UN, career diplomat, and decided opponent of the Brotherhood -- decided to contradict her government's wishes and vote in favor of the declaration. A yes vote was needed, she said, in order to fight back against "a global wave of conservatism, of repression against women." And so the two sides continue to duke it out...
Finally, my own foray into controversy. It wasn't at the UN, but it did unfold outside the Presidential Palace and in the pages of a major newspaper. Back in September, I wrote about attending a vigil outside the palace in remembrance and outrage on behalf of a girl who was killed while trying to fight back against her assailant in Assiut. It was organized by the Basma movement (against harassment), and I was invited by American and Egyptian friends who were working with the group. There were not more than 40 of us at the event, perhaps a quarter of us foreign. As usual, I had been wary of carrying a sign, though the Egyptian organizers assured me that it would not hurt their cause: this was an issue that affects all of us, and we were all in solidarity with one another. I was glad afterward that I had gone, as I said then, and I still am. But I had nearly forgotten about it when, in February, I returned from my trip to Luxor with my dad to find my photograph posted to my Facebook wall, the logo of Al Masry Al Youm printed across it. There I was, stern-faced, looking off into the distance, holding a sign that read something like "Morsi, where are you? Harassment is everywhere." My name wasn't listed, nor was my nationality or affiliation. The picture had been paired with an article about an unrelated event -- protests at Egyptian embassies abroad in solidarity with the women assaulted in Tahrir in the early months of this year. At first I panicked about the visibility, but quickly a number of Egyptian friends liked the photo, adding that they were proud to see a foreign friend standing up for their cause. I relaxed. And then I received an e-mail from the administration of my fellowship, informing me that my actions were extremely inappropriate and if any proof of attending a political gathering were to surface again, I would be kicked out of the program in an instant. The e-mail was sent to everyone in the program, snowballing into what made me feel at intervals embarrassed, angry, rebellious, and concerned. You're a foreigner and have no right to talk to the Egyptian president in such an insulting way, I was told. Harassment is a political issue, and you're getting into politics when it's none of your business. Then, It's dangerous and you could jeopardize funding for the whole program! I have thought long and hard -- and written -- about what the proper role is for me here as an American. It's not so difficult to find yourself in the midst of a demonstration (walking out of class, for example -- this has happened), and given the current activities of many young people, you also want to give some kind of support to your friends. Ultimately, I never thought it was right, though, to shout slogans like "Down with the regime" -- or anything at all in an expressly political setting. If we go at all, it's as observers. But when it comes to harassment and assault, we're not Egyptians or Americans, we're women. It's an issue that cuts much deeper for us, and has to be treated differently.
If you're looking for a bellwether for social trends (and taboos), look no further than Cairo University. When my feminism professor graduated in the late 1970s, she says, there was not a hijab in sight on campus. Maybe in poor or rural areas -- but not in a university. Today, more than 90% (she says 99%) of Muslim students are veiled. Empirical evidence - a walk around campus with my roommates - confirms this. The old buildings scattered around still have about them a dilapidated grandness: domes, marble staircases, bronze busts of dead poets and scientists. It happened that the day we visited fell in the middle of student government elections, so the grounds were filled with booths representing different student parties. Each party had large poster boards set up along the walkways advertising its candidates with their names and photos. But on the posters for one party, Shabab Bokra ("Youth of Tomorrow"), the women's photos were replaced with identical cartoon avatars (veiled, of course), while the male candidates' photos were shown as normal. Hmm. This smelled of the Salafist Al Nour party tactic in the 2011 parliamentary elections, when all the women's faces -- they were required to run female candidates under a quota system -- were replaced with flowers.
In contrast with the creeping conservatism I observed at the university, a visit to the Nazra Institute for Feminist Studies proved that ideas are evolving in both directions simultaneously. Along with my Arab Feminism class, I met with the executive directors of the center at their airy, spacious apartment in the appropriately-named leafy neighborhood of Garden City. Nazra was founded in 2005 by young men and women who felt the old feminist groups were too focused on development and not on radical ideas or on politics. When they tried to register as an NGO, the application was sent back by the government, which said that "nesawy" ("feminist"), used in the organization's name, was not a word -- thus they must have meant "nesaa'ey" (adjectival form of "women's"). These days, Nazra uses terms like "gender mainstreaming" to talk about its training programs for female candidates, who must not be affiliated with either the old National Democratic Party (NDP) or with an Islamist Party to qualify. Nazra also talks candidly about sexual assault and especially homosexuality in ways that are extremely rare here. Nowhere else in Egypt have I heard someone say the words "queers" or "vaginal penetration" without blinking an eye; but nowhere else, for that matter, runs "sexuality schools" either. The organization aims to be an open space for dialogue about these sensitive and extremely taboo issues. Although one of the directors seemed very pessimistic when asked about the headway he thought they'd made in changing the public discourse, the very existence here in Cairo of such a place seems a brave mark of progress.
Meanwhile, far away in New York, a showdown was brewing at the United Nations. In mid-March, the UN Commission on the Status of Women brought forth a declaration condemning violence against women and outlining steps to be taken to fight it. In debate, a close advisor to President Morsi named Pakinam Sharkawy (a woman) condemned the document as being out of line with cultural and religious norms. (It undermined the family and took questionable stances on issues like abortion and homosexuality, and wrongly counted marital rape as rape, according to the Brotherhood.) When it came time for the final vote, though, a parallel delegation emerged. Mervat Tallawy, the Egyptian representative to the UN, career diplomat, and decided opponent of the Brotherhood -- decided to contradict her government's wishes and vote in favor of the declaration. A yes vote was needed, she said, in order to fight back against "a global wave of conservatism, of repression against women." And so the two sides continue to duke it out...
Finally, my own foray into controversy. It wasn't at the UN, but it did unfold outside the Presidential Palace and in the pages of a major newspaper. Back in September, I wrote about attending a vigil outside the palace in remembrance and outrage on behalf of a girl who was killed while trying to fight back against her assailant in Assiut. It was organized by the Basma movement (against harassment), and I was invited by American and Egyptian friends who were working with the group. There were not more than 40 of us at the event, perhaps a quarter of us foreign. As usual, I had been wary of carrying a sign, though the Egyptian organizers assured me that it would not hurt their cause: this was an issue that affects all of us, and we were all in solidarity with one another. I was glad afterward that I had gone, as I said then, and I still am. But I had nearly forgotten about it when, in February, I returned from my trip to Luxor with my dad to find my photograph posted to my Facebook wall, the logo of Al Masry Al Youm printed across it. There I was, stern-faced, looking off into the distance, holding a sign that read something like "Morsi, where are you? Harassment is everywhere." My name wasn't listed, nor was my nationality or affiliation. The picture had been paired with an article about an unrelated event -- protests at Egyptian embassies abroad in solidarity with the women assaulted in Tahrir in the early months of this year. At first I panicked about the visibility, but quickly a number of Egyptian friends liked the photo, adding that they were proud to see a foreign friend standing up for their cause. I relaxed. And then I received an e-mail from the administration of my fellowship, informing me that my actions were extremely inappropriate and if any proof of attending a political gathering were to surface again, I would be kicked out of the program in an instant. The e-mail was sent to everyone in the program, snowballing into what made me feel at intervals embarrassed, angry, rebellious, and concerned. You're a foreigner and have no right to talk to the Egyptian president in such an insulting way, I was told. Harassment is a political issue, and you're getting into politics when it's none of your business. Then, It's dangerous and you could jeopardize funding for the whole program! I have thought long and hard -- and written -- about what the proper role is for me here as an American. It's not so difficult to find yourself in the midst of a demonstration (walking out of class, for example -- this has happened), and given the current activities of many young people, you also want to give some kind of support to your friends. Ultimately, I never thought it was right, though, to shout slogans like "Down with the regime" -- or anything at all in an expressly political setting. If we go at all, it's as observers. But when it comes to harassment and assault, we're not Egyptians or Americans, we're women. It's an issue that cuts much deeper for us, and has to be treated differently.
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