Thursday, 9 June 2016

What justice?

So I was raped.

I thought with all the amount of robbery attempts and sexual harassment that I have dealt with so far, I am more capable to cope and deal with it.
This time, I felt the loss of control on everything, including my own body. It took me few days to be able to say it out loud and face it, I am still not ready to answer questions, or talk about details. I managed to answer some questions: No, it wasn’t someone I knew. Yes, I am doing okay more or less. No, I didn’t go to the police. Yes, I did see a gynecologist. No, I didn’t tell my parents. Yes, I told close friends. No, there isn’t much that you could do to make it better. Yes, being around is enough of a support. Yes, it was more damaging than I expected to ever be. No, this is not the end of anything.

The hardest part was dealing with the feelings that I was not ready to deal with. Feelings of guilt then followed by anger. You know what I was feeling guilty about? Guilt about walking alone at night, guilt about taking cabs instead of learning how to drive and taking the car… I felt guilty for being reckless and always wanting to challenge this society, I have always felt that the public space is not mine, that I was a guest in a world built for men and specific men.

I wanted to challenge it, which is why I insisted to take cabs and buses no matter how many guns and knives were pointed at me and no matter how much harassment I have to face. Which is why I wanted to walk alone at night, because why my brother can walk and it is normal, safe, but if I walk alone at night; it is the most revolutionary thing to do?
This is why I no longer want to be apologetic while discussing feminism and how I chose to fight. I am taking back spaces, and no, it is not that simple for my brother to understand, because I am reminded every day that the price could be my life, my physical, emotional, mental health.
The second hardest thing to do was deciding if I wanted to go to the police or not.
Actually for me it was very clear that I didn’t want to do to the police, I have though felt guilt over the idea that reporting the incident to the police might create a small possibility of preventing these men to attack other women. The reason why I refused to go to the police was not simply because the officers themselves often sexually harassed me and that I was never able to get justice through them without huge power dynamics and lack of trust. The most thing I didn’t needed was answering stupid questions that would make me feel more responsible for the assault that happened to me or have enough energy to educate them on what to ask and what not to ask or argue back. Police are here to protect the ruling class who never put the well-being of women and other oppressed categories as a priority; on the contrary it has always been a tool to make sure we remain oppressed. A shitty organized tool can’t give me justice about another shitty thing that happened.
Having my body get invaded without feeling that I could have justice is such a horrible thing. Getting revenge on these individuals wouldn’t satisfy me, it was not about specific people who are “sick”. I get harassed almost on daily basis, I lived my life every day in fear, it became obvious that this is not only about “individuals” and any solution focused only on individuals is not enough for me as justice.
I want to smash patriarchy.
I couldn’t write an Arabic because I felt I would be more exposed, I couldn’t understand why for a while but then I realized that I wouldn’t want my mother to stumble on it and read. Oh, yeah. Realizing how hard it was to talk about it because of how others still tackle rape and sexual harassment made me angrier. A friend wrote an article about my incident and I spent days at work listening to women and men saying “how dumb that girl was to walk at night alone without something in her hand to protect herself”, “I hope the people who raped her were good looking at least”, “what was she doing walking there anyway?” … without them knowing that the person they are talking about was sitting next to them on the table.


Written in April. 

Friday, 19 February 2016

نعم للتمرّد

لقد فقدت الثقة بالدولة ومؤسساتها وقضائها، وتحرر مفهوم العدالة من أدوات السلطة القامعة من عناصر أمن وعسكر

كنت منذ 3 سنوات أسيطر على غضبي بوجه أفراد من فرع المعلومات الذين يمارسون قمعاً بالنسبة لهم مبرر، لكن منذ رفضت 
المثول امام المحكمة العسكرية أو التقدم بشكوى لأي شخص له علاقة بالدولة، توقفت عن السيطرة على غضبي

لقد تعدّى الأمس عنصر من فرع المعلومات على رجل يحمل طفله بالباص، فوقفت لأول مرة بوجهه جاهزة لمحاربته ليس فقط 
بالكلمات


رفعت يدي لأول مرة على عنصر بفرع المعلومات وبالطبع كان رده عنفياً، ممارساً ضدي القمع الجسدي، ولكنني لا أكترث. فالأمس كانت اول مرة اتمرد على هذا القمع كلياً. 

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

anxiety


ما العمل عندما يبدأ الاختناق
اولاً نبدأ نصارع كي نتنفس, الهلع يفشل كل المحاولات.
الخوف يتصاعد، خوف من أن نخسر القدرة على التنفس، فنتمسك كطفل ضائع بأي شيء قريباً منا جعلنا نشعر يوماً ما بالأمان. نتمسك به بهلع، واذا لم نجده، يزيد الاختناق.
ثانياً, بداية الاستسلام، الهروب بعيد عن كل شيء مألوف، ثم الرضوخ الى فكرة الخسارة، الخوف يختفي، نفسي يعود.
استيقظ بتعب، أنظر حولي، كل شيء بخير، ما زلنا نتنفس.  

Monday, 17 August 2015

لماذا الرؤية الشموليّة؟


العنف الذي تواجهه المرأة هو عنف مركّب. ولا يجب النظر على أي اِنْقِضَاض على المرأة أو جريمة بحقّها كفعل فردي فقط, بل يجب النظر لهذه الأفعال من منظور انها جرائم مبنية على تاريخ من العنف الممنهج. من هنا قد نخرج من سياق التركيز فقط على تصرفات الأفراد ولوم الأفراد, الى التركيز أيضاً على تركيبة النظام الذي يفرض على المرأة كما الرجل دور من يَضطَهِد و يُضطَهَد. فأنا لا أرى كيف نستطيع أن نحرر المرأة من دون أن نتطرق إلى دور الرأسمالية, والمؤسسات الدينية, والمؤسسات العسكرية, كما الدولة والتقاليد والأعراف والسلطة الأبوية والذكورية.    

 إن الانسان يكبر وهو يؤمن, من خلال الأفكار السائدة في مجتمعنا, والنظام الموجود ان الأرض ملك "الرجل" وكأن الكون أنشأ له ونظرية التطوّر توقّفت عنده وهو سوف يحكمه ويحسّنه, واضعاً نفسه على رأس الهرم ويقتل كل من يهدّد مركزه.
فيحاول الإنسان ترويض الكائنات الحية لكي تتناغم وجودها مع وجوده, يتملّك الأراضي ويزرعها ويناضل من أجلها, إلّا ان الأرض يمكنها أن تنقذ نفسها من دونه.




 فبدأت أفهم كيف كل شيء مترابط, وكيف رؤيتي للأرض, كما السلطة , الأفراد والمجتمع, مترابطة. أن الأرض ليست لي, ولم تخلق لي, بل أنا كائن ككل الكائنات وليس على الأرض وسائر الكائنات أن تتأقلم مع ما أريد. فمن هنا يبدأ مفهومي للتحرّر, ومن هنا أفهم أن العمل على تغيير مفهوم الرجولية مثلاً, مع أهمية ذلك, وحده ليس كافي لأننا اذا استطعنا تغيير عدد من الأفراد فالمنظمومة ومع كل مواردها وقوّتها فهي ستبقى توّلد مفاهيم وعادات للتأكد من أن "الرجل" يبقى على رأس الهرم.

وهنا أقول "الرجل" بالصورة الرمزية لموقعه بهذا الهرم, فقد يكون هذا "الرجل" امرأة وصلت بجهد على رأس الهرم ولكن من دون وعي بأن هذا لا يحّرر المرأة. فالنظام الرأسمالي ما زال يرتكز على الفقراء ليبقى مستدام, والنساء كونهم أقل تراتبية بهذا الهرم, تصبح النساء الفقراء هم الأكثر تهميشاً. فكيف تحررت المرأة اذا فقط لبست بدلة الرّجل وسيطرت على موقعه؟


المنظومة بكل مؤسساتها الدينية, الإقتصادية, السياسية والثقافية ستحارب بقوّة شرسة كل من يسبّب أي خطر حقيقي لهذا الهرم, فإذا كنت بأمان وأنا أعمل على تدمير الهرم بالفضاء العام, فسوف أعيد النظر بفعالية عملي. أفهم أهمية التركيز على هدف معيّن بعملنا لتغيير الواقع الذي نحن به, ولكن نظرتنا للمشكلة ورؤيتنا للحل لا يجب أن تتوقّف عند هذا الهدف, بل يجب أن تكون شاملة.


عند مواجة السيستيم, علينا أن نرتكز على رؤية شموليّة تستطيع فهم العلاقة والتأثير المتبادل بين الأبعاد الاقتصادية, الاجتماعية والبيئية...    

Monday, 14 July 2014

السعادة هي

الأطفال, دائماً يذكرونني أن  كون افضل نسخة عن نفسي  كانسان.
الحيوانات, دواء للقلب, عندما لا احتمل أن اكون محاطة  بالناس ولا اريد أن اتفاعل اجتماعياً وأشعر بيأس, الحيوانات تهدئني.
ركوب الدراجة الهوائية, من جديد تعلمت كيف أركب الدراجة. شعور منعش, الهواء, الشمس, الحركة, السماء... أقرب شعور للطيران والحرية.
الأولاد بالحمرا, لقد أحببتهم. بعد خسارتي لسمر (طفلة رجعت الى سوريا حيث لاحقاً علمت انها توفيت) قلت لنفسي انني سأنشقّ عاطفياً ولن أتعلق بهم. لكن جائت الهام يوماً وجلست جنبي ووضعت رأسها على كتفي, قلبي انفتح من جديد, وعلمتني كيف أحزن أفضل.
الوقت الذي أمضيته ألعب مع الأولاد جعلني أنسى ان العالم ينهار, كنت سعيدة بوجودهم حولي.
أن أمشي حافية القدمين, ألمس الأرض وأركز على ملمسها.
الموسيقى الكلاسيكية, البيانو دائماً كان يجعلني أنتقل الى عالم آخر بثواني.
الباصات والفانات, الجلوس محاطة بأوجه مليئة بالتعب. شعور بواقعية الحياة. واذا تراقب جيداً, هناك دائماً قصة.
زيارة المناطق التي قيل لي عدم زيارتها لأسبب أمنية أو أخرى, والتفاعل مع السكان.
لدي الحشرية لاكتشاف النور بكل شيء, أي مكان ممكن أن أراه كقلعة.
قبلة, صوت, غمرة, ريحة, ضحكة من تحب. الحب.
الفواكهة, القهوة, الشاي, الباستا, والكوكيز.

على فكرة, سمر طلعت بعدها عايشة ورجعت على بيروت بس الهام رجعت على سوريا هذه المرّة.

Friday, 16 May 2014

not just overcoming


An attempt to let it out of my system, I am growing tired of cab drivers trying to harass me. written after an incident that happened couple of days ago.

I can’t feel, as if all my senses have been cut off

I am here but at the same time I am not.

I put effort to remember how good it felt to be touched, to be loved, but I can’t remember

I focus on the movement on my skin, on the texture, on the sound, but I am still not here, where am I?
I have the urge to harm myself to feel anything but I don't.
I think hard of the reasons, why am I shutting down?

Maybe I am too afraid to feel, because I am worried if I open that closet where I am hiding these feelings, they would fall on me and smother me and I won’t be able to breathe.

I am tired of dealing with it.

A voice in me asks me to speak; I try to connect what is happening with the other, tie the rope, so we won’t be disconnected, but my body fails me, my mind shuts down, I want to talk but I forgot how to speak.

I type, it is easier to type the letters and as I type, I gently open the door.

The anger, because that asshole is taking something good away from me, because would that asshole be less of an asshole if he knew what he made feel? I bet he would have thought twice before attempting to touch me.

Angry because my body is mine and mine only and I get to choose with whom to share it and no one, not one single soul could touch it in a way that I don’t want or like.

The anger because I was doing okay, I was overcoming it and I was so damn proud that I forgot that it is not only the past that I am overcoming.

I am overcoming the past, the present and I should learn how to overcome the future.

My body will keep on being invaded and every time someone invade my space, it will not only trigger, but it will create another wound that I have to heal.

How many wound can a body bear before collapsing, before it loses its ability to heal and move on?

I wanted to scream, Fine I get it, I got my share of this bullshit, can it stop now?

No, it won’t stop now.

It won’t stop because I am not destroying it, because all the energy that I am putting and others are putting seems to be more focused on how to protect myself when it happens and prevent it instead of focusing on destroying the structure of the system leading to this.

My body is sick but I will fight you till the last breath.

I will fight not only to destroy, I will fight and put all I have, even though it sucks that my energy should be invested in overcoming, but I hope that I will put so much energy in overcoming that I would end up not just overcoming but also building extraordinary things over it, beautiful valuable worthy things.

You will not take my ability to love, you might take my life but my love will remain fierce.

Wednesday, 9 April 2014

a new perspective to physical contact


I was almost 8 or maybe younger, the first time I remember being harassed.

We were playing hide and seek and in the family house in the mountains, he was 18 or so.

He told me to lay down on the ground between two beds facing the ground and not say a word or move.

He laid on top of me and all I remember was him repeating to stay calm so no one would find us and that we are playing a game, he ran his hand under my shirt and dry humped me.

All I remember was feeling uncomfortable but I have never said a word.

Next memory is when I was at school, aged 11 and a student  5 years older than me if not more, would sit next to me during computer class and would run his hands on my thighs and arms, I would move away telling him to leave me alone, for me, I never thought much of it. I remember the supervisor in the school asked me once “did he do anything wrong to you?” and I was baffled by that question, why would she ask? What does she know? And I don’t know if what he is doing is wrong; the only answer I gave uncomfortably was “he is being annoying, I don’t want him to sit near me”

Then a year later at the same school, a student locked me inside the classroom during a break time, shocked me and shoved me to the wall, and then he unzipped his pants forcing me to grab his penis.

At that time I knew it was wrong but I was being threatened and I didn’t know for whom to speak.

That moment teachers were knocking on the door, and he opened the door and I never said a word either.

Then they were random things like how this guy in the family would grab my ass whenever he passes by.

At the age of 13 I had the talk with my mother and mother told me “never let any guy touch you”

At that moment,  I realized I was harassed but I felt guilty for not speaking and for letting them touch me so I never shared.

As I was getting older, I had many incidents with taxi drivers, who would try to molest me, some using a weapon.

I had one with an ex, who tried to rape me years ago after we decided to go to an isolated area to talk, he then left me in the middle of nowhere under the rain to figure out a way back home.

I tried to talk as I grew older, but I was always told “don’t sit in front, be careful what cab you take, don’t walk alone or take a cab alone at night, don’t go to isolated places, what where you wearing, you trust people so fast…”

What it caused?

I thought I was affected by it, until I got intimate with someone for the first time.

In that warm moment, something broke in me and all I wanted was to shove the person away.

I was struggling to breathe and all I could feel was the disgust and fear that I felt after each time I was harassed.

I then tried to always focus on the fact that not all men are alike.

The problem was, it wasn’t just the harassment.

Majority of my childhood, the physical contact to me was associated with abuse or harassment.

I couldn’t remember someone touching me for a reason other than harassing me or beating me.

It represented the opposite of security.

That was what physical contact represented, and the most painful journey was to learn to associate being touched with love and affection and security.

It is a lifetime process, but we get better, even though the scars remain.