Don’t Blame Me

I don’t quite remember when the significance of ‘Gender Equality’ fully dawned on me, or even the first time I heard the term ‘male-dominant societies’. And, to be honest, I don’t believe it happened too long ago.

Don’t blame me! My parents were extremely solicitous about fairness between their children, regardless of the gender. They never allowed ‘gender’ to determine our roles! If, and when, there was a mild temptation for my brother and me to exhibit controlling traits under the guise of masculinity, they knew how to diplomatically close the case without diluting our identities, not as males who desired control, but rather as human beings who possibly got influenced by others.

Don’t blame me. I grew up in a home where there was no gender discrimination in talents, where the values and beliefs surrounded my nurturing, would never ever give me the slightest justification as to why would the brother of Ghalia (Shelley’s Student) confiscate her notebook, believing poetry is not suitable for girls. My brother and I not only acknowledged but rather celebrated my sister’s talent for writing poems, admiring every written word in her notebook as though they were echoes of divine inspiration.

Don’t blame me. In my household, the approach of Shaima’s aunts and mother would have been seen as totally alien for blaming Shaima for harassment that was beyond her control. In my home, when my sisters would come back from an outing with stories about suggestive gestures from guys, my parents would simply make light of the situation, asking the girls to be more cautious next time. Never once did my parents place blame on us for anything other than our own actions.

But was I truly aware of the whole picture?

As I read Runaways – By Shaima Khalil and Shelly Davidiow, I started to wonder: could it be possible, akin to the experiences of Shaima and Shelly in Doha, that men had followed my sisters all the way home, leaving them hesitant to confide in our parents for fear of their overprotectiveness limiting their freedom?

Had they endured any instances of sexual harassment, so subtle, but so distressing that they felt too ashamed to disclose them to anyone?

When my dad forced them to cover their hair (out of his commitment towards Allah), did they ever question the intersection of religion and societal expectations, echoing Shaima’s assertion “my flesh stopped being my own and became an extension of my religion and society”?

Have they ever been told privately by mom that “A good girl leaves her family’s house, to her husband’s” and, similar to Shaima, felt weighed down by an overwhelming feeling that they will never have a day by their own?

Did they, akin to Shelly, see in marriage a ticket to run away, not necessarily from a political violence like the one Shelly witnessed in South Africa, but at least from a violent society that categorizes women under mean terms depending on their social status and age.

But it also made me contemplate one more question:

Is there any chance that women have fallen in a ‘reaction trap’?

First and foremost, it’s undeniable that history is filled with accounts of women enduring marginalization, from being denied the right to vote to facing barriers in accessing formal education and entering certain professions, all the way to violent foot binding.  Also, I’m definitely not blind to the harsh realities that still exist; where some countries restrict women property rights and deny them access to education, and where movements advocating for justice against sexual assaults continue to gain momentum.

But, the world has been very much responsive to rectifying past and current injustices inflicted upon women. Throughout my life, I’ve been exposed to endless narratives highlighting efforts to empower women through education and leadership roles, and with the establishment of societies aimed at dismantling outdated social norms against women. Nonetheless, at times, I can’t help but feel that some women perceive every single interaction with men, even their most personal experiences, through a lens of male-entitlement-and- dominance, as if they are BRAINWASHED by the mere concept.

Consider Shaima, who underwent a challenging surgery in her pursuit of having a baby alongside her husband. The procedure left her emotionally distraught as it didn’t yield the desired outcome. Ahmad, Shaima’s husband, offered reassurance by saying, “We will try again” and Shaima rejected the inclusive pronoun “we” and instead asserted, “I will try again”

This scenario – along with many other similar ones I witness frequently – shows a discrepancy where women may vocalize grievances against a society they perceive as male-dominant, to the extent that they have to exclude them from every experience even the shared ones, as if to react. But some incidents are completely personal and shaped by our own emotional state. It’s never fair to draw sweeping assumptions about all males in all life aspects based on an ongoing global reaction towards unfair history, like how Shaima perceived her husband’s “we” as entitlement, so that she had to exclude him from his fatherly pain, or even the emotional support in their shared pursuit of having a baby.

After all “women don’t become mothers, people become parents”

In an insightful TEDx Talk titled “Why Gender Equality is Not Just About Women” By Caroline Strachan, she presents compelling statistics of how both men and women share the desire to excel as parents. Strachan highlights a 2019 report from GQ Magazine revealing that the top priority for men was to enhance their skills as fathers, and that the majority of “how To”-parenting videos in YouTube are primarily consumed by fathers. These statistics prompt Strachan to go as far as to question the fairness of parental leave policies for men.

I understand deeply that the physical struggles women endure are incomparable to any other experience. As shelly describes, they “see the vein between death and birth”, and as Shaima articulates “the body is pulled, wrenched and slashed open”, leave alone the emotional consequences.

But men, too, go through emotional and physical struggles

While men’s bodies may not endure the physical trauma of childbirth, they often bear a different kind of strain. As the primary breadwinners in many societies, men face the expectation of relentless hard work, which can take a toll on their physical well-being. Despite the increasing presence of wives and other women in the workforce, men are still pressured to shoulder the responsibility of providing for their families, often at the cost of their own physical health and vitality.

If a man ever complains, the immediate response would be “men are built differently”. And as much as I believe that this is true, I still cannot fathom why differences between men are women are considered only situationally.

Moreover, men, too, have been grappling with social expectations. They may differ from those experienced by women, but are still valid. The least are the ones revolve around showing up as strong, emotionless, and stoic, making them under so much pressured to foster detrimental behaviors and attitudes leading to a reluctance to seek assistance for mental health concerns.

In fact, some statistics reveal that social pressure plays a significant role in male suicides, with rates four times higher than those of women, and approximately six million men are affected by depression annually (talkiatry.com). These figures underscore the urgent need to address the harmful effects of societal expectations on men’s health and well-being, so why there’s no global fuzz for equality in terms of global support towards men?

What I’m trying to say is this:

Ahmed undoubtedly experienced his own emotional anguish. Though he longed to embrace fatherhood, he honored Shaima’s decision to refrain from trying to conceive—a choice that undoubtedly weighed heavily on his restrained emotions.

Paul, Shelly’s husband, demonstrated enough commitment to their son Tim during a period when Shelly’s writing career flourished in Australia, and while he faced unemployment. Despite his own struggles, Paul fulfilled his role as a devoted father without complaint, providing for his family without allowing his emotions to surface.

Still,  I believe that attempting to categorize societal pressure to a single gender oversimplifies the complex reality, because each person’s experience of societal pressure is unique and cannot be reduced to gender stereotypes.

There exists within each of us a facet of society that feels stifling, and incongruent with our values and aspirations—a clash that Shaima poignantly captures as leaving us “more of everyone, and less of ourselves”, and they vary greatly among individuals. 

We’re all runaways

I never realized that, much like Shaima, I was subconsciously escaping through my English writing. When she expresses, “English was the language of my imagination; it was my silent rebellion against my Arabic-speaking country“, her words resonated deeply with me, as if she were articulating the very sentiments I held in my heart but didn’t know they exist.

You see! Vulnerability is universal and knows no gender boundaries; it touches the lives of both men and women, whether they reside in the desert or by the sea.

We all, regardless of our gender, are runaways – from the weight of societal expectation that threatens individuality, from the suffocating embrace of conformity that molds us into someone we’re not, and from the societal judgements that chip away at our self-worth.

We all, regardless of our gender, are seekers of refuge, yearning for a place where we can finally take off the masks we once wore to fit in, where our identities are celebrated without reservation, and where our individual voices are heard, and our individual choices are respected.

So, can we finally move from talking about the gender gap to promoting equality for everyone?

Can we finally strive for a world where people are not judged or constrained by societal expectations rooted in gender roles, but rather appreciated for their unique souls, strengths, and talents? Can both men and women refrain from invoking entitlement by saying, “A man took my job” or “I missed out because of a woman”? Can we put an end to attributing our successes and failures solely to our gender, and instead create a world where rewards are based solely on merit? Meanwhile, can men and women stand beside each other, recognizing that every human being, irrespective of gender, deserves assistance and support?

Why I love the book.

Despite my reservations, both expressed and unspoken, regarding gender equality, this book remains one of my favorites.

There’s so much spiritually in the meeting of Shaima and Shelly. It feels less like a chance and more like a manifestation of spiritual and divine destiny. Both were “runaways” within their own minds, burdened by the weight of women in male-dominated societies. Which makes it remarkable that they encounter each other in the desert, amidst the burgeoning landscape of Doha, where the constraints placed upon women take on a different and more intense form from what they experienced in their original homelands; and that ‘form’ was a main reason for them to forge a connection and engage in a meaningful conversation.

Which brings me to how I’m enamored by the words of their conversations; by ‘words’ being the thread that held their connection steadfast; from their very first wordy chat in Qatar (when Shaima’s accent caught the attention of shelly) to the moment captured in the book. Words were breathing life into their otherwise wordless emotions and finding expression only in their talks! No wonder it has also been a driving force behind their success: Shelly thrives in her writing, and Shaima excels in her reports. Together, through the power of words, they give voice to voiceless women worldwide.

I love the book for its rich exploration of diverse perspectives in politics, religions, aspirations, reservations, frustrations, geography, human rights, and mental health. The authors skillfully put them into a fluid exchange of messages that ebbs and flows with a captivating rhythm and invite the readers to traverse the vast spectrum of human experience and understanding.

I recommend it to anyone who:

• appreciates narratives that challenge societal norms
• likes to explore themes of gender equality, spirituality, and the power of human connection.
• is interested in stories about identity and belonging.
• values the transformative potential of dialogue and the written word in amplifying marginalized voices and advocating for social change.
• likes to dive into self-reflection, empathy, and cultural exploration topics.
• once felt, or feels ‘expat’.