Adonis Diaries

Archive for August 14th, 2013

Egypt Morsi, Mandela Arab twin? And Obama got Peace Nobel Award for delivering a speech in Egypt…

Time to prove anything has no value anymore. You can recklessly label anyone Mandela, receive Nobel Peace award for no peaceful activities or prove any peaceful intentions…

Soon after the military coup that deposed Egyptian President Mohamed Morsy, TAWAKKOL KARMAN announced that he would join the pro-Morsy demonstration outside of Cairo’s Rabaa al-Adaweya square.

TAWAKKOL KARMAN published on Foreign Policy (FP) this August 9, 2013:

Why we must stand and support the Muslim Brotherhood’s fight for democracy.

My home is in Sanaa, Yemen, but all of us who placed our hopes in the Arab Spring have a stake in what happens in Egypt: I wished to protest the killing, forcible disappearance, and jailing of coup opponents — crimes that have been met with terrible silence from human rights activists and political elites.

Not only have such figures refused to condemn such violations of freedom, they have given their blessing and justified such measures.

I declared publicly that I was going to Rabaa al-Adaweya to defend the gains of the Jan. 25, 2011, revolution — freedom of expression, peaceful assembly, and the right of the people to select their rulers.

For my activism, I have been the target of a massive incitement campaign by the pro-coup media: Regime supporters have threatened me with death, even to put me on trial for spying and interfering in Egyptian affairs.

On Aug. 4, I arrived at Cairo airport with my friend Bushra al-Serabi, the executive director of Women Journalists Without Chains, to fulfill my pledge. I had all the possible scenarios in mind: I thought the Egyptian authorities might grant me entry and then attack me later in the street, or worse, fulfill their threats by arresting, killing, or prosecuting me.

It was an exciting trip, although it didn’t end as I wished. Or begin, to be honest.

Upon arriving at the airport, I stood in line to complete the usual visa process. A few minutes later, one officer in the airport recognized me and asked me to go to a special counter where they complete the entry procedures for bearers of diplomatic passports.

At that moment, an unusual commotion began: The officers’ phones would not stop ringing, and I heard one of them whispering on the phone about me. “Tawakkol came! Tawakkol came! We won’t let her in,” he said, as if I was a very dangerous person.

The Egyptian officers informed me that I would be denied entry, and I was soon deported back to Yemen on the same plane on which I had arrived. The authorities gave me no clear answer why: They said that I knew the reason for my deportation better than them, and that my name had been blacklisted based on the request of a security body.

Unfortunately, it is impossible for me to stand in person with the protesters outside Rabaa al-Adaweya square to echo their legitimate demands. We shouldn’t be ashamed of standing by people who dream of democracy, justice, and a life with dignity — this is our duty.

Egypt’s current regime has ousted the first elected president in the country’s history, suspended a constitution that won 60 percent support in a referendum, and completely excluded the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party from political life.

There are limited options for those of us who care about Egypt’s future: We can either side with civil values and democracy, or with military rule, tyranny, and coercion.

“After being raped, I was wounded. My honor was not”. Who is Sohaila Abdulali
“When I fought to live that night, I hardly knew what I was fighting for. A male friend and I had gone for a walk up a mountain near my home.
Four armed men caught us and made us climb to a secluded spot, where they raped me for several hours, and beat both of us. They argued among themselves about whether or not to kill us, and finally let us go.
At 17, I was just a child. Life rewarded me richly for surviving. I stumbled home, wounded and traumatized, to a fabulous family.
With them on my side, so much came my way. I found true love. I wrote books. I saw a kangaroo in the wild. I caught buses and missed trains. I had a shining child. The century changed. My first gray hair appeared.
After being raped, I was wounded; My honour was not: Sohaila Abdulali</p><br /><br />
<p>"When I fought to live that night, I hardly knew what I was fighting for. A male friend and I had gone for a walk up a mountain near my home. Four armed men caught us and made us climb to a secluded spot, where they raped me for several hours, and beat both of us. They argued among themselves about whether or not to kill us, and finally let us go.</p><br /><br />
<p>At 17, I was just a child. Life rewarded me richly for surviving. I stumbled home, wounded and traumatized, to a fabulous family. With them on my side, so much came my way. I found true love. I wrote books. I saw a kangaroo in the wild. I caught buses and missed trains. I had a shining child. The century changed. My first gray hair appeared.</p><br /><br />
<p>Too many others will never experience that. They will not see that it gets better, that the day comes when one incident is no longer the central focus of your life. One day you find you are no longer looking behind you, expecting every group of men to attack. One day you wind a scarf around your throat without having a flashback to being choked. One day you are not frightened anymore.</p><br /><br />
<p>Rape is horrible. But it is not horrible for all the reasons that have been drilled into the heads of Indian women. It is horrible because you are violated, you are scared, someone else takes control of your body and hurts you in the most intimate way. It is not horrible because you lose your “virtue.” It is not horrible because your father and your brother are dishonored. I reject the notion that my virtue is located in my vagina, just as I reject the notion that men’s brains are in their genitals.</p><br /><br />
<p>If we take honor out of the equation, rape will still be horrible, but it will be a personal, and not a societal, horror. We will be able to give women who have been assaulted what they truly need: not a load of rubbish about how they should feel guilty or ashamed, but empathy for going through a terrible trauma.</p><br /><br />
<p>The week after I was attacked, I heard the story of a woman who was raped in a nearby suburb. She came home, went into the kitchen, set herself on fire and died. The person who told me the story was full of admiration for her selflessness in preserving her husband’s honor. Thanks to my parents, I never did understand this.</p><br /><br />
<p>The law has to provide real penalties for rapists and protection for victims, but only families and communities can provide this empathy and support. How will a teenager participate in the prosecution of her rapist if her family isn’t behind her? How will a wife charge her assailant if her husband thinks the attack was more of an affront to him than a violation of her?</p><br /><br />
<p>At 17, I thought the scariest thing that could happen in my life was being hurt and humiliated in such a painful way. At 49, I know I was wrong: the scariest thing is imagining my 11-year-old child being hurt and humiliated. Not because of my family’s honor, but because she trusts the world and it is infinitely painful to think of her losing that trust. When I look back, it is not the 17-year-old me I want to comfort, but my parents. They had the job of picking up the pieces.</p><br /><br />
<p>This is where our work lies, with those of us who are raising the next generation. It lies in teaching our sons and daughters to become liberated, respectful adults who know that men who hurt women are making a choice, and will be punished.</p><br /><br />
<p>When I was 17, I could not have imagined thousands of people marching against rape in India, as we have seen these past few weeks. And yet there is still work to be done. We have spent generations constructing elaborate systems of patriarchy, caste and social and sexual inequality that allow abuse to flourish. But rape is not inevitable, like the weather. We need to shelve all the gibberish about honor and virtue and did-she-lead-him-on and could-he-help-himself. We need to put responsibility where it lies: on men who violate women, and on all of us who let them get away with it while we point accusing fingers at their victims."</p><br /><br />
<p>- Sohaila Abdulali.
After being raped, I was wounded; My honour was not: Sohaila Abdulali Indian Quotes‘s photo
Too many others will never experience that. They will not see that it gets better, that the day comes when one incident is no longer the central focus of your life.
One day you find you are no longer looking behind you, expecting every group of men to attack.
One day you wind a scarf around your throat without having a flashback to being choked.
One day you are not frightened anymore.
Rape is horrible..
It is horrible because you are violated, you are scared, someone else takes control of your body and hurts you in the most intimate way.
But it is not horrible for all the reasons that have been drilled into the heads of Indian women.
It is not horrible because you lose your “virtue.”
It is not horrible because your father and your brother are dishonored.
I reject the notion that my virtue is located in my vagina, just as I reject the notion that men’s brains are in their genitals.
If we take honor out of the equation, rape will still be horrible, but it will be a personal, and not a societal, horror. We will be able to give women who have been assaulted what they truly need: not a load of rubbish about how they should feel guilty or ashamed, but empathy for going through a terrible trauma.
The week after I was attacked, I heard the story of a woman who was raped in a nearby suburb. She came home, went into the kitchen, set herself on fire and died. The person who told me the story was full of admiration for her selflessness in preserving her husband’s honor. Thanks to my parents, I never did understand this.
The law has to provide real penalties for rapists and protection for victims, but only families and communities can provide this empathy and support. How will a teenager participate in the prosecution of her rapist if her family isn’t behind her? How will a wife charge her assailant if her husband thinks the attack was more of an affront to him than a violation of her?
At 17, I thought the scariest thing that could happen in my life was being hurt and humiliated in such a painful way. At 49, I know I was wrong: the scariest thing is imagining my 11-year-old child being hurt and humiliated.
Not because of my family’s honor, but because she trusts the world and it is infinitely painful to think of her losing that trust. When I look back, it is not the 17-year-old me I want to comfort, but my parents. They had the job of picking up the pieces.
This is where our work lies, with those of us who are raising the next generation. It lies in teaching our sons and daughters to become liberated, respectful adults who know that men who hurt women are making a choice, and will be punished.
When I was 17, I could not have imagined thousands of people marching against rape in India, as we have seen these past few weeks. And yet there is still work to be done.
We have spent generations constructing elaborate systems of patriarchy, caste and social and sexual inequality that allow abuse to flourish. But rape is not inevitable, like the weather. We need to shelve all the gibberish about honor and virtue and did-she-lead-him-on and could-he-help-himself. We need to put responsibility where it lies: on men who violate women, and on all of us who let them get away with it while we point accusing fingers at their victims.”
Sohaila Abdulali.

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