Let us talk about Afghanistan today. About how the word was carefully and meticulously fabricated to have the f-g-h and even the less elegant s-t. A word with substantial syllables, enough to indubiously identify an accent. With the right timing of pauses and syllable pulling, it would come out as a subtle bewilder. Ostensibly anyway, the inner bit comes out more baffling than enthralling.
You’ve probably been told before, that you are ugly!
Seriously…? And have you been told that your face is a source of corruption?
Might sound ridiculous, but guess what? The Taliban believed so! They believed a lot of things.
They believed that women shouldn’t wear high heels, lest the footsteps excite a man.
They also believed that they shouldn’t display pictures of themselves in their own houses, and on media, on books, posters… That ground and first floor residential windows should be painted over or screened to prevent women from being visible on the street, that they shouldn’t dare make an appearance on their apartment balconies.
The Taliban’s stated motive was to create a secure environment where the chastity and dignity of women could be sacrosanct, to mean beyond interference, beyond criticism. Definitely not in the positive light of it.
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Women couldn’t speak loudly in public. Well actually they could, I mean, they had mouths and voices and thoughts and feelings to express, but that bore a burdensome consequence.
‘Dare to dream!’ And certainly, some did. They dreamt of liberty, they dreamt of humanity, they dreamt of happiness, they dreamt of sanity.
Sadly however, the end of their tunnel presented public flogging and execution; for fighting against what seems to have been a very disturbing and repressive regime.
Having to appear in the streets non-mistakenly wearing a burqa and always accompanied by a male chaperone…
Fun fact- The ‘Women’s Garden’ was renamed ‘Spring Garden’ because, “How can a place be named after a woman? How detestable!”
Blind to the prejudice and gender apartheid, that is certainly no way to treat a person.
As I saunter along the streets today, in my dark military boots, trying to unsuccessfully sway my chunky hair, I happen to realize that I have hands! And that I have legs! And that I have a torso too! The slapping bit? I don’t have to fight for my torso to be in school. (I actually fought against it. I wanted to stay at home and eat pancakes and discover more things that would make me cry!). That I can liberally walk and work in most places that I’d wish to. That I can choose whoever I’d want to marry without my torso being handled by an old man. Okay, my torso is flaunting. Let’s put it inside the jeans [OHHHHH MY!! I CAN WEAR JEANS!!!!] And, have you tried wearing jeans on your torso, because, why not?
Also by Dorothy Orina on Feminism, read:
- Little. Would you raise your children feminists?
- Family Over Career. Which should you prioritize?
- What is Feminism?. Learn what feminists are all about.
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