After the march

The post-March vitriol on my FB timeline endorsed the fact that there was something about the Aurat March that gave people the jitters. The past couple of days were exhausting; spent in arguing and explaining the meaning behind various slogans and realising the need to talk about various issues.

While it was expected to see men mocking women, the kind of criticism that came forward from a section of women (and not the usual right-wing kind who are against the idea of women stepping out of the house) was surprising, and infuriating.

To gauge the strength of a protest or a march or a procession organised by the oppressed, we normally see how the oppressors react. If people’s voices are enough to shake the ground on which the oppressor proudly stands, the job is well done.

What both men and women were ‘uncomfortable’ with was women using provocative language. But it isn’t new that a movement or a procession is being viewed through the lens of bourgeois politesse. Such policing has also been faced by some civil rights movements which are also regularly policed for language and tone.

It means that when the majority run out of coherent arguments to engage in a civil and meaningful discussion, they start nitpicking the smallest irrelevant points and eclipse the entire discourse with their constant nagging.

Regarding expletive-laden slogans there is one thing that critics need to understand: these are the cuss words and abuses that women receive on a daily basis. Many women in Pakistan complain about receiving unsolicited pictures of men’s private parts via Messenger, Snapchat or WhatsApp.

Women in our country generally don’t like to discuss the issues they face online, or on the streets, mainly because they are afraid that the little freedom they have will be taken away from them. This makes it all the more important to bring these issues in the mainstream discussion. Men, who make up a major portion of our policymakers, should pause and consider why Pakistan passed its first cyber security laws in the year 2016, when the dawn of the internet was in the late 1990s. (It is fascinating that one of the first cases dealt with under the law was of a woman professor who filed a report against a ‘male’ professor who shared her lewd photoshopped images on the internet – but women don’t face any online harassment, people say) Even today when the country has a few cyber crime laws, their implementation is not as robust as it should be.

In addition, the kind of verbal abuse women who dare to share their opinion face on a daily basis is appalling. It is ironic, nearly nauseating, that such behaviour is supported by even women who blame other women for taking part in a public discussion. For them, the solution is simple: if a woman wants to feel safe in a digital space, she should refrain from taking part in a discussion.

Women on the streets are not safe either. Out of the women who use public transport regularly, 85 percent has complained about facing harassment. Anyone who has travelled by bus may have seen, at least once, a woman screaming at the man behind her for touching her inappropriately. Such insecurity has restricted women’s mobility across the city and most of their movement is purpose-based (to and from work or to and from college or university).

When it comes to women who remain indoors for a major portion of their life, it is not a beautiful world. Annually, almost 14,000 women die in childbirth. Domestic violence against women and girls often goes unreported in this part of the world. Women are taught to endure the pain, and compromise for the sake of their children or for the family’s ‘honour’. In a society where polygamy is celebrated, many women suffer in silence as they cannot provide for their children due to financial constraints.

What is even more problematic is how these movements are viewed in isolation. And why are men so threatened by a bunch of women who took to the streets to raise voices against the problems they face? Many women’s issues are not exclusively theirs. A decent minimum wage, end to dowry, women’s sexual and reproductive health and girls’ education are, and positively must be, men’s problems.

Some critics have also dismissed the entire movement by calling it the whining of liberal women (a word dirtier than common abuses). These people couldn’t see the women who held the placard (and who are present at almost every rally) asking for details of their sons/brothers/husbands who went missing without a trace.

The International Women’s Day in Pakistan saw diversity and inclusivity. The Aurat March was not dominated by upper-class women who are often criticised for a botched concept of equality or for failing to acknowledge the rising gaps between affluent women and working-class women. It was surprisingly taken over by women who were displaced by the incumbent government’s ill-thought-out anti-encroachment drive; by school-going girls who, in their neatly pressed blue uniforms, talked about why girls’ education is important; and by women from minority communities who talked about what it means to be a minority in Pakistan.

The critique that such days are often glossed by the achievements of women who have everything in their life would have some standing had the critics paid attention to the voices of underprivileged women and then criticised about under-representation, if any, of the women whose voices matter. For the International Women’s Day 2020 March, what the critics can do is to perhaps consider becoming allies instead of naysayers.

The writer is a subeditor at The News

Email: aimen_erum@hotmail.com