The black burkah
This is an essay written by one of my soldiers, but the writing was deemed too insensitive for our publication. I post it here as I see it as both accurate and balanced; though somewhat biased by her western perspective. Still, good words that need saying.
KIRKUK PROVINCE, Iraq – (April 16, 2006) The black burkah, that is often pulled out to demonstrate the ultimate depth of women oppression in the Arabic world, is an outfit I rarely see. While there are women who sport this traditional garb, most of the women I have seen throughout mid-Iraq wear a marvelous display of color.
The scarves that cover their hair are often splashed with brilliant shades of the rainbow and fringed with beads. The robes underneath are sometimes equally colorful and may not even match the scarves. This gypsy-like hodgepodge of pattern and color has often made me wonder if it is a secret statement of expression.
Is their clothing an artistic exhibition of all that is veiled by their culture’s archaic ways? Once while out with a civil affairs unit to look at schools being built, we were surprised to discover that at a co-ed school, there were only boys there. When we asked where the girls were, the principal of the school shrugged and said, “Who cares? They are only girls. It really doesn’t matter.”
It really doesn’t matter? While I might blow off most rumblings about women back home, this was a different matter altogether. Women here truly are oppressed. Besides the lack of effort to ensure a female’s education (which, yes, there are exceptions to this) a woman’s involvement in the country of Iraq is rare. The numbers have increased since the removal of Saddam Hussein, but over all pale in comparison to other democratic nations.
I met a woman once who was leaving to train as an Iraqi Policeman. I told her she was my hero to be carving this path in her culture. I was told by one of the police liason’s that most the women did not make it through the academy. Not because they were incompetent, but because the men here would beat them and constantly torment them for being out of society’s place.
If you pay close attention to the cars passing on any given day in Iraq, women are often in the backseat while all the men ride upfront. It reminded me of the 60s, only this dealing with gender. Again, there are exceptions, but I’ve never even seen a woman driving a vehicle.
I am so use to the Iraqi men ruling the culture, and “business” activities, that I was extremely surprised while in Muqdadiyah, Iraq, the unit I went out with had a local female interpreter. The whole day, as she spoke to contractors, business officials and police leaders, I wondered if the men cringed at being forced to communicate through this woman.
She obviously had to have been an exception to the Iraqi girls “not mattering” when it came to education since she spoke fluent English. The first moment I had to speak with her I asked her how she came to be an interpreter. She told me female interpreters were more common in Baghdad (a city I haven’t been to) but that they were still rare. Most women were scared to be interpreters because some of them wound up dead at the hand of their own people.
For a woman to do such a thing it would be considered a disgrace, and she smiled and whispered, “It makes the men feel threatened.” Her family supported her though and she said she wasn’t scared of people trying to hurt her. This was what she wanted to do. I personally, thought she was beautifully fierce.
I have numerous photographs I have taken of the women in this country. Women with eyes downcast, some boldly staring back at the camera, most shadowed by men. While I’m not one to rock the religious belief boat, I recognize that there are women here with dreams beyond flat bread in the morning. I hope that each of these can find her voice in more than mere clothing.
KIRKUK PROVINCE, Iraq – (April 16, 2006) The black burkah, that is often pulled out to demonstrate the ultimate depth of women oppression in the Arabic world, is an outfit I rarely see. While there are women who sport this traditional garb, most of the women I have seen throughout mid-Iraq wear a marvelous display of color.
The scarves that cover their hair are often splashed with brilliant shades of the rainbow and fringed with beads. The robes underneath are sometimes equally colorful and may not even match the scarves. This gypsy-like hodgepodge of pattern and color has often made me wonder if it is a secret statement of expression.
Is their clothing an artistic exhibition of all that is veiled by their culture’s archaic ways? Once while out with a civil affairs unit to look at schools being built, we were surprised to discover that at a co-ed school, there were only boys there. When we asked where the girls were, the principal of the school shrugged and said, “Who cares? They are only girls. It really doesn’t matter.”
It really doesn’t matter? While I might blow off most rumblings about women back home, this was a different matter altogether. Women here truly are oppressed. Besides the lack of effort to ensure a female’s education (which, yes, there are exceptions to this) a woman’s involvement in the country of Iraq is rare. The numbers have increased since the removal of Saddam Hussein, but over all pale in comparison to other democratic nations.
I met a woman once who was leaving to train as an Iraqi Policeman. I told her she was my hero to be carving this path in her culture. I was told by one of the police liason’s that most the women did not make it through the academy. Not because they were incompetent, but because the men here would beat them and constantly torment them for being out of society’s place.
If you pay close attention to the cars passing on any given day in Iraq, women are often in the backseat while all the men ride upfront. It reminded me of the 60s, only this dealing with gender. Again, there are exceptions, but I’ve never even seen a woman driving a vehicle.
I am so use to the Iraqi men ruling the culture, and “business” activities, that I was extremely surprised while in Muqdadiyah, Iraq, the unit I went out with had a local female interpreter. The whole day, as she spoke to contractors, business officials and police leaders, I wondered if the men cringed at being forced to communicate through this woman.
She obviously had to have been an exception to the Iraqi girls “not mattering” when it came to education since she spoke fluent English. The first moment I had to speak with her I asked her how she came to be an interpreter. She told me female interpreters were more common in Baghdad (a city I haven’t been to) but that they were still rare. Most women were scared to be interpreters because some of them wound up dead at the hand of their own people.
For a woman to do such a thing it would be considered a disgrace, and she smiled and whispered, “It makes the men feel threatened.” Her family supported her though and she said she wasn’t scared of people trying to hurt her. This was what she wanted to do. I personally, thought she was beautifully fierce.
I have numerous photographs I have taken of the women in this country. Women with eyes downcast, some boldly staring back at the camera, most shadowed by men. While I’m not one to rock the religious belief boat, I recognize that there are women here with dreams beyond flat bread in the morning. I hope that each of these can find her voice in more than mere clothing.
posted by Nehemiah at 3:14 AM
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