From a post I made in the Guardian in 2007, and which is as relevant now as it was then. Perhaps even more so, with the 22nd of September hosting the day of the girl. Nawal el Saardawi should be every girls hero for her courage to champion their rights and preserve their dignity, in a culture where persistence by a woman against entrenched patriarchal authority is risky at best and too often lethal.

With notes from Nawal El Saadawi speech – 2007)

http://www.nawalsaadawi.net/

Having read most of the comments posted on this very emotive issue there is not much one can add, except add to the applause for Bin el Sultan and her bravery, and to also add some of the comments from another brave woman, Dr, Nawal el Saadawi, http://www.nawalsaadawi.net./ who has been campaigning for decades to eliminate this abhorrent ritual. For the record, she does not believe in MGM (male genital mutilation) either. But has the unkindest cut been incorrectly attributed to the wrong gender? MGM is restricted to circumcision, an operation for which, in some circumstances there is some justification. In primitive societies in ancient times, facilities were also primitive, and hygiene difficult, especially in the water scarce desert regions where the idea of circumcision was probably born. Infection would have been common and treatment of the irritating itch difficult, so the obvious solution was simply to remove the foreskin. An ‘If it offends thee, cut it off’ solution. It is unlikely that the remedy would have been decreed by God (Genesis 17 – 8 to 14) – who, you can argue, put it there in the first place – but more than likely by some well-meaning tribal leader or prophet speaking for practical reasons on his behalf. And making it a religious law has ensured its continuance.

No such law was decreed for women, argues Nawal El Saadawi. Not in the bible, Quran or in any other religious or monotheistic text. FGM is not characteristic of any society or religion, of any country, race, colour or ethnic group. FGM was born of a patriarchal class system, where one class ruled over another, and where women were subjugated in the state and family unit. Women were little more than slaves, and this oppressive dichotomy still persists. Women are veiled and isolated at home under the authority of their men, ensuring they have no economic independence, and therefore are unable to leave or avoid submission. Women who do not obey their men are severely punished. The punishment for a woman who betrays her husband is death, but a man has the right to betray his wife because God conveniently gave him the right to divorce and to practice polygamy. In this patriarchal system obedience of the husband or father is inseparable from obedience to God.

To further ensure this enforced allegiance to men in these repressive patriarchal societies, women are circumcised in an attempt to diminish their sexual desires and certify their virginity. This works insofar as it makes sexual satisfaction difficult, but fails because pleasure is a function of the brain, and if they can’t be satisfied by their husbands, maybe they can achieve satisfaction outside the marriage. One has to wonder why they get married in the first place, but the answer is obvious. Men have plugged all the loopholes. Without a husband a woman has no means of support. If education is not expressly forbidden, it is at least frowned upon. Finding employment in a male dominated society is almost impossible. They are ostracised by other women for being different, (the crabs in the bucket!) and uncircumcised women are labelled as ‘unclean’, an insidious stigma with no substance.

The paranoiac fear that men have of women’s fidelity has, in some societies, like Sudanese FGM, gone beyond excision of the clitoris and into infibulation, which has already been well covered in these posts, so no need to explain further.

Most Islamic and Arab countries, according to Dr. Nawal El Saadawi, such as Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Tunisia, Algeria, Libya, Morocco, Saudi Arabia, and others, know nothing of FGM. Only Egypt, Sudan, Somalia and Yemen practice it. Uganda and some other African countries have banned it, or making it illegal, although with Uganda’s dismal human rights record you have to wonder if it is not just a trifle expedient. Still, government propaganda has little impact on people who live in poverty and ignorance, and are brain-washed almost daily by religious political groups.

The practice of veiling women, according to Nawal El Saadawi, was limited in Europe to traditional Jewish and Islamic groups. Today it is increasingly common among Islamic migrant communities in Holland, France, UK, Belgium and other countries in Europe. And in Australia and New Zealand. Sometimes it is accompanied by FGM. Both veiling and FGM are considered by the political and religious leaders of these communities as part of the Islamic Identity, under the guise of so-called ‘cultural relativism’. This is part of the deception and with the dominance of backward fundamentalist religious groups the brain-washing of women continues. It is happening in Egypt and many other countries, and when they rebel and fight for their human rights in these patriarchal communities, they are labelled as traitors to their religion, their country, their culture, their authentic identity, their morality, their chastity, and any other derogatory slogan these misogynistic patriarchs can invent to maintain their dominance and self-gratification. FGM is the shame of men.

For my small effort, and if Bint el Sultan has no objection, I will be posting her letter on my website, where it will be in the company of many similar true stories, and on facebooks, where many young people, who don’t read sources such as the Guardian, visit and can learn. http://www.jeroldrichert-novels/FGM.html

Jerold Richert – 2010

“Desert Flower”
Monday, January 11, 2010 – by A Word For My Sistas

An inspiring story from an inspiring woman. Thankfully she is not alone. These are the stories that insire other women to relate their own painful and unpleasant experiences, and to muster the courage to refuse to be treated like slaves of men. Sadly, the young girls who need most to hear these stories of courage and rebellion never get the opportunity, isolated as they are from technology and education. But this is changing rapidly, in a rapidly changing world. Many countries in Africa are now acknowledging that the abhorrent and unnecessary ritual of FGM be made illegal, and in time the word word will spread. FGM is the shame of men, but not all men. There are men such as the dedicated African school teachers who are actually visiting the remote villages on foot to spread the message of hope and enlightenment. Thankfully, we can do the same by electronic means, such as movies and the social media, such as Youtube, Facebook and Twitter

Jerold Richert 2010

I was thirteen and impressionable, in my first year at boarding school, far from home, alone and miserable. Only a few weeks earlier I had been on our farm at the other end of the country, roaming the hills behind with my dogs and three African companions of the same age; children of the farm labourers. Boarding school, by comparison, was like being thrown into a prison filled with dangerous inmates and big hairy guards bent on making your life as miserable as possible.

I spent all my pocket money and more on Scaramouche. It brought colour and excitement into my life when I needed it most. It was escapism of the first magnitude. A fantasy of fighting back and regaining self esteem, just like the character in the movie. But it didn’t remain fantasy for me. I was so impressed that I decided I was going to learn to be a sword fighter too. When I discovered that fencing lessons were being held every Friday night at the Bulawayo Town Hall, I was ecstatic. I bunked out to watch them. Unfortunately, you had to be eighteen to join, and thirteen-year-old kids, it seemed, were not even allowed to watch. Undeterred, I managed to slip behind the stage wings when no one was looking, and climb a ladder to the catwalk above, where I was able see everything perfectly.

It was not at all like the swashbuckling swordplay of Scaramouche. The fencers, many of them women, wore masks, protective vests, and stopped every few minutes to have long discussions about nothing in particular. It was all very subdued and boring, hard not to fall asleep, and certainly not worth the caning I received the next day from the housemaster.

Somewhat disillusioned, but still captivated by the magical sense of excitement I had experienced with the movie, I looked for other ways to escape the drudgery of the new world I had found myself in. At home on the farm every day had been an adventure, and the days too short to fill, now every day seemed a long and drawn out lifetime of emptiness. Thankfully, Zane Grey and Biggles, read clandestinely at night in the toilets by candlelight, came to the rescue and filled some of the space, giving me dreams that I could take back to my cold bed in the dormitory.

I took to reading in a big way during those formative years – reading mostly adventure stories and westerns, and the virtual world of fantasy helped keep my self esteem intact and my thirst for adventure unquenched. I travelled the world and fulfilled most of my boyhood dreams, and the stories I write reflect those dreams. I write about Africa, and particularly Zimbabwe, because I was born there, it is what I know best, and it is where my passion lies. I am now a reluctant refugee, but in many ways it is an advantage, for I remember how it was, and my passion has not been dulled by the unpleasantness of the present reality.

All my novels are page-turners and pure escapism, with no high-end theme or motive other than to entertain and take the reader on a colourful journey of make-believe. I do however, base them on fact, so there is an opportunity to learn as well as being entertained. But whether or not the Phoenicians were the discoverers of Sasos, or the gold found there provided the gold for Solomon’s temple, as related in my latest novel, The Pilot, I can’t say for certain, although I believe it did. The period is filled with mystery and controversy, so it makes for a good tale and provides plenty of food for thought, so hopefully at the end you can look back and think “…well, yes, I guess it could easily have happened that way…”

At its heart, The Pilot is an adventure and a love story, sometimes slushy and sometimes swashbuckling. So if you admit to being a romantic, like I do, believe in old fashioned values and standards, in love and romance, and try to sniff quietly and dab unobtrusively at your eyes in sad – or even happy – movies, like I do, then you have come to the right place.

And while you are here, if you would like to comment about my books, my blog, or whatever, I would love to hear from you, and I promise to answer as soon as I possibly can.