I knew from my father’s constant complaint that he had no sons but had been blessed instead with four daughters that there were challenges ahead of me. “If you were a boy you could do this” and “if I had a son, he would do that,” he would say.
I would study my male counterparts at school and wonder what they had that I didn’t. I couldn’t see any remarkable differences. I outsmarted them, ran faster than them and was definitely better than any of them at art and comprehension. My tree-climbing abilities were no less superior, and I could out-long-jump any of them during a competition. What was so special about boys anyway? I decided to prove to my father that not having a son is no great loss. And I did.
Years later I watched my father’s face light up with pride as I signed my first contract. I watched him sigh with relief when I supported him through a business failure. I watched him look on as I nurtured my seedling company into a star. I listened to him telling others how wonderful I was, better than 10 sons.
My father, bless him, converted to the belief that a woman can be worth 10 men. But the rest of male and even a part of female society was a different matter entirely. Any woman has her work cut out for her if she decides to pursue a career not traditionally acceptable for a woman to pursue. With the sudden spotlight on Islam and Muslim societies, and in particular the plight of women, it is hardly surprising that our society is suddenly squirming under this close scrutiny and torn between admitting the desire to progress and emancipate our women and defending our failure to do so.
I watched Tim Sebastian’s interview with Abdul Rahman Al-Matroudi, deputy minister of Islamic affairs, on the BBC and wondered why, if he was so convinced, the minister couldn’t defend the situation in a more convincing manner. I watched him dodge and duck questions fired at him, but very little of what Al-Matroudi said sounded sincere. Did he deliberately avoid answering directly because he didn’t want to admit that we do have serious issues that need to be addressed? Or was he embarrassed to state his opinions? If he believes that women shouldn’t drive then why did he not admit it? If he is so convinced that the system enforced today in our society is correct then why couldn’t he say so?
Frankly, I did not envy Al-Matroudi’s position. In fact, I almost sympathized with him, he was in such a tough spot. Warding off accusations of fundamentalism and providing an unhealthy environment for children without upsetting a delicate local balance was a tall order, to say the least. But I believe that when our social structure is under attack either we should have the guts to admit that it needs reforming or stick to our convictions and defend our way of life intelligently and convincingly.
There were many different ways of answering Sebastian’s questions about our education. His implication that our system is breeding terrorist violence is wrong; if anything our educational system breeds passivity. Our children are taught not to question anything, not to think, not to analyze, not to be creative. Just to accept and memorize. Debate is not encouraged, creativity is quelled and punishment is severe.
The only violence that our education system is breeding is the slow inward kind of violence, which burns the soul and represses thought.
We don’t have to teach our children terrorist violence in school; they get all the Violence 101 education they need from TV. Just watching the news in Palestine is enough, or the Iraq war, and let’s not overlook popular Hollywood movies. Plenty of ideas there on how to kill and maim.
We have the tools to change all that, but society has to want that change. Society has to take responsibility for its own development. Years of repressed freedom of expression have conditioned society into a state of dull acceptance.
We accept that women shouldn’t drive; we accept that women shouldn’t pursue male-oriented careers; we accept that women have no organized official body to represent them in commerce and law; we accept that if we are not well connected our basic rights could be forfeited; we accept that we have no creative outlets for our frustrated youth; we accept that a mutawwa has the right to embarrass us and humiliate us in public; we accept that if we want quality leisure time with our families we have to travel abroad.
Why?
Even as I write this I wonder if I will be brave enough to publish it, and I wonder if the editor will be brave enough. That fear in itself is a statement about our existence.
I have proved myself many times over in this environment, which is ill-equipped to support women’s development. My business has been threatened many times over, by the economic situation, natural competitiveness, ruthless unethical business warfare, lack of professionalism, sexual discrimination, jealousy, you name it.
Sheer determination, faith and good old sweat can be powerful incentives to succeed, but the support of a loving family and friends and colleagues are the most precious asset any woman can have when starting out on her journey to carve a place for herself alongside her fellow citizens. That and a blessing from God.
It is a fact that there are women out there surviving the hardships of inequality. We do exist, and though the terrain may be tough we are making progress: Slowly admittedly, but slow progress is better than none.
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(Nadia Bakhurji is a Saudi businesswoman. She is based in Riyadh.)
