This is one of the topics I've been tiptoeing around talking about because I don't want to lend credence to the white imperialist perspective of feminism, in which the Middle East is a backwards, patriarchal society where women are oppressed and dominated and have no agency or voice of their own. That is obviously a blatant, racist lie, full of willful misconceptions of Arab culture and dehumanization of Arabs themselves. What I write here does not in any way condone some sort of Western campaign of human righteousness in which it is the obligation, the duty, the responsibility of the West to invade and intervene in order to liberated the oppressed women of the Middle East. Rather the opposite, actually. But I do want to bring light to the sexual harassment I receive here, and draw some parallels and distinctions to what I experience back in the United States. Because while I do not want to condone the imposition of Western values upon perceived 'oppressed' populations, I also will not remain silent on the injustices I perceive in the world around me.
Today was a typical weekend day for me- perhaps a little more secluded, as I'm studying for midterms. I remained in my apartment all morning, until deciding that I need to do something with my life other than make delicious omelets and watch TV that I don't understand. I was running dangerously low on money- only a couple of dinar left in my wallet- so I decided to walk to the ATM and invited a friend to come along. Several of us ended up going on this excursion- two other girls and one guy- and I walked with one girl as the other two walked in front of us. Three minutes out from the apartment and a truck drove by, with two younger men in the front seats. The window was down, and the truck slowed as it passed us, both blatantly staring at us. One guy leaned his head out the window as they passed, saying "I love you" as they drove off. We were silent for a second until Katie said sarcastically, to herself, "I love you too!" and we laughed for the next minute. Because what else is there to do, really, but laugh off such a situation?
We all split up as we neared the banks, each of us walking off to our respective ATMs. Mine is a bit further than the others, so I was walking quickly with purpose towards it so the others wouldn't have to wait for long. There was a guy loitering on the sidewalk in front of a hotel, and alarm bells went off in my head. Since my trip during Eid al-Adha with Katie, I've gotten pretty good at picking out the creepers. Something about him seemed off, so I determinedly stuck a scowl on my face and tilted my head to stare at the opposite side of the street as I walked by him.
"Bsst bsst bsst" was the response that got- the literal cat call here- and when that didn't elicit a response from me, the whistling commenced. I don't know if whistling or words is worse, but all the same it generates a feeling of violation, of being unwillingly transformed into a display for someone else. I had to walk past him again after using the ATM, and generated the same response. Ignore, ignore, ignore, because what else is there to do?
We walk up the street to the grocery store. A car slows and men leer. We walk by a group of men on the way back home. Their stares linger for a bit too long. A passing car honks, and the guy inside smiles as he drives by.
This was my morning. This was all within a span of 30 minutes. This is not, by all means, reflective of every waking moment of my life in Amman- but it is reflective of a cultural conception of women, especially foreign women, here. We are objects. We are displays. We are easy. We do not deserve respect. We are not people.
During orientation week, there was a presentation given on sexual harassment and how it will likely manifest itself here. It is, honestly, the same way it manifests back in the United States. Unwanted leers, comments, cat calls- the insidious projection of men into my life, claiming that their right to comment on my body is more important than my right to walk down the street unmolested. The advice they gave in responding to it is much the same as how you would respond to it in the US - ignore, ignore, ignore (because if you don't, and you confront it, you might not come out of it alive) and that is what I do. I ignore. I behave like a good, meek little woman and walk down the street as if I can't hear you telling me to smile.
It is exhausting. Some days more than others.
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