women’s rights

We don’t need no segregation

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By Osama Diab

Sexual harassment in Egypt is leading to calls for gender segregation. But is hiding women really the solution?

24 April 2010

Gender segregation is increasingly being viewed as a solution to widespread sexual harassment in Egypt. Signs of segregation have been apparent all over the country. In recent years, the government has designated two carriages in each metro train for women. Also, private women-only beaches, coffee shops and restaurants have been created to cater for women who want to remain beyond the reach of curious virile eyes (and sometimes hands).

A study on sexual harassment titled Clouds in Egypt's sky was carried out by the Egyptian Centre for Women's Rights (ECWR) as part of its Safer Streets for Everyone campaign. The study surveyed a total of 1,100 Egyptian and non-Egyptian women. The results were shocking: 83% of Egyptian women and 98% of foreign women in Egypt reported being sexually harassed.

The most recent reaction to this "social cancer" (as it is described by the ECWR) came last month when a Cairo taxi company allocated some of its fleet to female customers with women drivers. There was also a proposal endorsed by the late Grand Imam of al-Azhar to introduce pink taxis driven by women drivers for women passengers.

Some form of segregation has always existed in Egypt in places like government schools, mosques, hairdressers and funerals. However, it was never really as brutal as segregation in Saudi Arabia, where schools and colleges and even private and foreign institutions, such as the British Council are gender-based.

Even on the individual level, women in Saudi Arabia are not allowed to be in the company of non-relative males. A few years ago, a Saudi girl was sentenced to six months in prison and 90 lashes after being gang-raped just for being alone with a non-relative man at the time of her kidnap.

However, in Egypt, segregation is still done voluntarily and it is mostly the woman's choice to stay away from men. It is understandable why women would use their women-only facilities to escape sexual harassment. If I were a woman in Cairo, I would definitely jump in the no-men carriage in the metro instead of rubbing shoulders with men who, at best, are going to check me out from head to toe. But is this really the right way to combat this negative phenomenon?

Gender segregation seems like the easy way out. How would someone harass a woman if she's not there? But an honest approach to the problem is essential, and isolating women would be merely be treating the symptoms, not curing the disease.

There are many reasons behind sexual harassment: poverty, bad education, unemployment, sexual frusturation due to the social unacceptance of premarital sex and the difficulty of marriage due to economic reasons and a patriarchal society where women don't enjoy equal rights just to name a few.

Ahmed Salah, the founder of a campaign called "Respect Yourself", designed to target sexual harassers, believes that sexual harassment is a form of violence and anger at the current economic and political conditions that men bring against what they perceive as a "weaker" creature.

"People are unemployed, poor, and even if they're not; they still suffer from the country's bad conditions and want to bring their anger against someone, and this someone is the creature they perceive as weaker," says Ahmed.

Hamdi Abdul Azim, an Egyptian economist, said in a conference last year: "Economic conditions and culture don't allow people to satisfy their sexual needs in a legitimate manner and by mutual consent. Therefore, they sexually harass women in the street because this is where their only interaction with women takes place."

We should rethink our strategy of fighting sexual harassment because segregation itself is one of the reasons behind it. The more the sight of a woman becomes unusual, the more harassment women will suffer. Additionally, segregation would make women feel more alienated and marginalised in society.

Al-Azhar's approval to have taxis with women drivers might be well-intentioned, but it is policies like this that partly led to the situation we suffer from now. If we isolate females more from society, chances are it will be harder for them to get their voices heard, let alone fight for their rights.

Gender segregation would also increase the communication gap between males and females, creating more social problems such as sexual harassment and domestic violence. Running away from sexual harassment in women-only taxis, beaches, metro carriages and coffee shops might sound like a good short-term solution, but would only lead to more long-term gender-based troubles.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 29 March 2010. Read the related discussion.

Published here with the author's permission. ©Osama Diab. All rights reserved.

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Covering heads and veiling poverty

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Gihan Abou Zeid

In Egypt, Hijabless women are becoming a shrinking and marginalised minority who have to keep their bare heads down.

3 September 2009

Arabic version

After dressing hurriedly, I asked my daughter if my clothes were appropriate for a public occasion in a poor Cairo neighbourhood. Smiling patiently, she told me: “You look great. Now you have to leave immediately.”

As I pushed open the door of the lift on my way out of the building, I ran into my teenage neighbour who is a year, or even a few months, younger than my daughter. “Hello, Ramadan Karim,” I said to him, smiling.

He did not answer, and mumbled to himself as if he’d seen something sinful: “A’ouz billah (I seek refuge in God).” Among the 30 or so women who live in our building, only two do not cover their heads or veil their faces, my daughter and I.

Women who bare their heads have become a minority in Egypt as a wave calling on women to cover up has swept through the country. Egypt’s streets are now teeming with colourful headdresses but the black ones are casting a longer shadow.

A superficial reading of the hijab phenomenon would reveal a rise in religiosity. A deeper analysis would uncover a wide range of economic, political and social dimensions which differ from one class to the next.

The hijab has lifted a burden off the shoulders of the poorest families, where it is used not only to cover the head but also to conceal, or at least disguise, poverty. The traditional dress, the galabiya or jilbab, is available in the market for reasonable prices. In addition, thanks to its bagginess and diplomacy in dealing with the female form, the dress can be shared by the women of the family and complemented with inexpensive scarves in a broad range of colours.

The headscarf also saves on hair care, not only in terms of money but also in terms of the time spared by women who barely have the luxury to sleep between the multiple jobs and functions they must perform.

In poorer areas, the hijab also affords its wearer a certain measure of respect as a “pious woman”. This is appreciated by the local men and reassures the women. By dressing in this way, a woman is sending out a concise and elegant message that she is adhering to the commandments of her faith.

But the prevalence of the headdress in all the poorer areas and in most middle class households raises the question of whether the hijab still carries the same religious significance.

In one of Cairo’s major hotels, I met Iman, a bright young woman who served drinks there. In accordance with the norms of the tourism sector, she was wearing a short skirt and tight clothes. But as the clock struck midnight, she underwent a major transformation. Before me stood the same woman but with her hair covered and her body concealed in a far more modest dress.

Iman informed me that she was on her way home. She told me that she didn’t want to lead a two-faced existence and that she was not happy with her false appearance at work or in the neighbourhood where she lives.

But Iman, who grew up in one of Cairo’s working class districts, knows very well that she could lose a lot if she rebelled against the local mores and refused to cover her head. In order to protect herself and her family, she wears the hijab.

Meanwhile, at the hotel, she needs to safeguard her livelihood, and so removes her headscarf. And between baring and hiding their hair, women’s identities are taken away from them, until they lose them with time, and become unable to answer the simple question: why do you cover your hair?

The hijab no longer carries the same religious significance it previously possessed. In fact, it now resembles a kind of new national dress, invented against a religious backdrop. Different rival groups compete in investing in it. Some Islamic groups see in its increasing acceptance a silent vote of confidence in their social success. Domestic fashion houses see in the spread of the hijab an appreciation of their talent for designing an endless assortment of headdresses. For their part, Egyptian families are proud of their conservative daughters.

Therefore, this unofficial national dress which expresses “conformity” carries no religious significance. Today, the pious have to go a step further to stand out in not standing out by donning a baggy black over-garment which completely conceals both the hair and the body. This attire is an extreme expression of conformity with the commandments of religion.

Women who have reached this stage do not recognise the piety of their sisters who merely cover their hair and find those who go around bare-headed so alarming that they pray for their salvation.

In this dress hierarchy, the weakest are the women who bare their hair because of their shrinking ranks. Moreover, their resistance to the hijab prompts others to exert peer pressure on them, reinforcing their sense of isolation. In fact, the status of women who do not cover up has grown to resemble the ostracisation experienced by minorities.

So my silence in the face of a teenager's disapproval can be seen as the kind of prudence exercised by small minorities throughout the ages. I’m just keeping my bare head down!

Translated from the Arabic by Khaled Diab. © Gihan Abou Zeid. All rights reserved.

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