by Roba Assi*
-Pause-
A compelling collage featuring snippets of Langston Hughes’s poetry and snapshots of a young woman’s tribulations advocating for basic equality and free expression. When challenged to accept her limited role in society, Assi responds with a simple but profound truth about individual rights: “I have formed my own political and economic opinions, and I believe that they should be respected.” While lamenting the obstacles before her, Assi defines her struggle as laying a solid groundwork for the next generation and expresses confidence that her dream, rather than collapse, will burst forth.
- Play -
Amman, Jordan
March, 2006
(What happens to a dream deferred?)
Being all a feminist, a classical liberal, and a Muslim Arab woman, I know I am amongst a minority.
This fact shines bright in the faces of those around me. It scratches itself against my ears in my everyday conversations with friends, loved ones, and cab drivers. It is visualized in the graffiti covering the walls of my beloved city, embodied in orange spray-paint uttering statements that shy away from our own faults as a society, as a religion, and as an Arab nation.
(Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?)
Why, they ask, aren't you satisfied with the fact that you can drive and work wherever you want although you are a woman? Why, they demand, can't you just accept the law of God without trying to speak out against that which is divine? Why, they wonder, don't you know that by classifying yourself as a liberal, you are only helping accomplish the Western agenda against the Muslim nations?
(Or fester like a sore-- And then run?)
My mind rushes to answer these questions; because women’s representation in Arab parliaments does not exceed a blushing 6%. Because I do not have the right to speak my mind about all issues. Because as a woman, I am not equal to men in the eyes of law and society. Because every day, I see how tribal law still wins over civil law. Because I have formed my own political and economic opinions, and I believe that they should be respected.
(Does it stink like rotten meat?)
My mind rushes to answer these questions, but most of the time, my lips stay sealed. I do not live at a place – nor a time – where I can speak my mind without worrying. The saddest part? I stay quiet not out of fear of regimes and rule, but rather, out of fear of convictions, society, and ignorant mentalities.
(Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet?)
A few weeks ago, a professor of mine asked the class if anyone was aware of the cartoon incident that has been keeping this area of the world quite busy. Most of the students raised their hands, but upon further inquiry, it was settled that none had actually seen the cartoons or knew the exact details, because it was deemed heretical and punishable by law to publish the cartoons in local newspapers. So the professor started telling the students the details of the cartoons – the details according to him, very subjectively. I, already angered by the Muslim reactions to the cartoons, spoke up in disagreement about both the details and his opinion.
(Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.)
… I was asked to leave the class.
- Forward -
Amman, Jordan
July, 2029
I look at my daughter and I smile. I see a little of myself in her – I see the revolution, I see the zeal, I see the need to attaining perfection.
Yet, that's not why I smile – I smile because these traits are being poured into battles that I did not get the chance to fight, she is fighting the battles that I was fighting to fight. How funny that sounds!
As a child, I was asked to stay hush about issues pertaining to tribalism and conviction, because these issues were surrounded by a series of "givens" which no one could control. Once, my mother refused to talk to me for a day because I "failed" to appreciate the simple fact that while I was asking for trivial rights such as a woman's entitlement to receive an equal inheritance, other women in the Arab world did not even have the right to vote. During my third year at Jordan University, I was asked to leave a class because my opinion about a certain religious issue didn't conform to the opinion of the majority of the people around me.
Somewhere along, I realized that we are taught that individuals are impotent, unable to influence society. I realized that in order to motivate a much needed change, we must start talking about society, criticizing it, and asking for what every human has the right to have. I realized that my voice must be heard.
Today, my daughter stands straight, an important member in a secular society not dominated by a specific agenda, gender or creed. Her head is high as she speaks about issues in regards to social, political, and religious reform.
I am proud of her, but I am also proud of the audience. It took time, it took sacrifice, and it took hard work, but today, just looking at the audience, I smile because I was fortunate enough to see the day when the dream exploded. Not exploded in the sense that it collapsed – rather, the dream erupted, then it shone!
Today, the part of the world that I hail from has finally realized the dream; my dream, the dream of many before me, the dream of many after me. This dream is of acceptance, the acceptance of ideas; where leaders and citizens make arguments, listen, exchange ideas and change their minds.
Of course, we still have a long way to go, for after all, achieving civil rights and societal equality is a long, uphill battle. But for now, I'm smiling over the work that has been done and hope for an even bigger smile tomorrow. We must continue to fight, so that we move forward – together.
(Or does it explode?)
Roba's article won third prize in the "Dreams Deferred" essay contest on civil rights in the Middle East
