For the benefit of men
NS April 17th, 2008
I recently finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. It is a book about two Afghani women both thrust into the world of arranged marriage to a brutal man three times their age. The way that their love and self-sacrifice sustain them, even in the face of such evil, is remarkable and what I admire about women like them. I won’t go into details because I don’t want to spoil the book for anyone who has not read it and plans to, but suffice it to say that it makes for tough, though ultimately inspirational, reading.
On Sunday, nearing the end of the book and soaking in the bath, I cried. I shuddered and I shook as I allowed the terror of their lives to wash over me. Not because I identified with them or knew how they felt but because I didn’t, and never would. Their experiences, while fiction in this instance, are the experiences of millions of women all over the world, in both more ‘traditional’ societies and the Western world, but I have been lucky enough to escape the worst of it. These women have known and will continue to know suffering like I could never imagine. Beaten by fathers and husbands, raped by uncles and soldiers, sold to colleagues and friends of relatives, killed before they are even born, prevented from getting a basic education or having basic human rights…I read dozens of these stories every day and can’t help but notice that so much of womankind’s misery is brought on them by the men in their lives or the ones running them in government.
Deciding their fate (or more like sealing it) from atop their thrones of control and privilege, thrones they have sat upon since the beginning of time, these men never see women as human beings deserving of the power to direct their own destinies. To these men, women are commodities. Like acquiring an asset, they go after women in a systematic ritual of purchase, control, utilization and then disregard when they are finished with their services, be that cleaning their houses, satisfying their sexual desires, bearing and raising their children, cooking their meals or taking care of them when they are old and infirm. Except unlike carefully-guarded assets, women do not appreciate over time. As lines become ingrained on our skin, our value goes down and we are easily tossed aside. No one is so vulnerable as a female in a patriarchal society at either far end of the age spectrum. The very old, like the very young, being placed somewhere on par with the decrepit family pet whom no one has the heart to shoot and put out of its misery but is of no use to anyone on a practical level.
So as I lay in the bath and thought about these injustices and tragedies, played out daily the world over, I felt physically sick. Hot tears mingled with the steam rising from the water enveloping my swollen belly and I placed a hand over the space where my future child resides. And horror of horrors, I had a flash of sudden anger so severe that it overtook even my rational and maternal side. For a moment, as I thought of the little life I’m growing, I wondered what I would do if this child is a boy. Would I be contributing one more foot soldier in the war against women, one more bearer of oppression? Would my parental influence, love and guidance be enough to override what society will tell him is his birthright? Will I ever look into his eyes and see the indifference and hatred that fuels the perpetuation of inequality?
And then, at that moment and for the first time in this pregnancy, I felt a kick from deep inside that woke me from my biter reprieve and left me feeling simultaneously overjoyed and ashamed. There I was, blaming the world’s ills on an innocent being merely for the coincidence of what might be between its legs. Isn’t this how misogyny started in the first place? I thought about all the inklings I’ve had that I’m carrying a boy and how that, up until this fleeting thought, had always made me smile. I picture a little boy snuggled to my breast, tiny hand pressed palm-down over the rise and fall of my chest, looking at me in utter trust and adoration as I smooth the hair from his eyes. I imagine I will be the most important woman in the world to him and that the radiance of my love and the magnitude of my example will penetrate his heart and protect it from ever growing cold or being cruel.
While I will never stop feeling anger about these situations because anger is what gets me motivated and fuels me to help strive for change, I must remember that I (we) are fighting against an entire vast history, not individuals within it. Like a small boat that struggles to overcome a large wave, I must remember that the force of the water and the rise of the swell is the enemy, not the water itself or the creatures within. I have known numerous good men in my life and am truly blessed to count many amongst my friends and family.
I would be nothing short of grateful to experience the love of one more.
