Shelina Zahra Janmohamed's Blog, page 19
January 10, 2011
When a woman is harassed by men, why the rush to blame her?
Here's my weekly column for The National UAE.
"Hi! How are you? Are you married?" began the e-mail, before adding: "I like you." Is this proposition a compliment or a cause for concern?
I receive several of these messages every week from people I don't know. Men, specifically. Some people say it's my own fault because my Facebook profile has a picture of me on it.
Other friends remarked that while they sympathised with me, and even agreed my photo was modest, my continuous stream of marriage and relationship proposals was in their view still "kind of" my fault. The reason they gave was that, at the time, my profile did not specify if I was married or not.
Why do I have to state either way if I am married or not? I don't see it as relevant to the subject matter or quality of my public writing.
"If they know you're married they will stop sending dubious messages," they replied.
So does that mean that sleazy messages to single women are acceptable? I countered. They admitted they weren't, but told me to be practical and change my status anyway because that's just how the world works. Women have to put up with seedy realism rather than hold society up to higher standards.
I did hold on for quite some time to my lofty principle that my marital status was not a public matter, and that such untoward messages shouldn't be sent to any women at all. And then I decided I had enough unwarranted attention and capitulated, changing my public listing from single to married. And yet the messages still kept coming.
One proposal was so blatant that I even posted the text anonymously on my personal page expressing shock at receiving such solicitation. And not 10 minutes later, despite the public manner in which I had rejected the proposition, I received yet another proposal. Some found this funny, I found it infuriating. A woman shouldn't be subjected to harassment in this way.
I'd had enough. Any further messages would be named and shamed. Such as this one I received: "Hiya i would luv to say hi, luv your eyes … x"
As a side note to stalkers, please try to improve your spelling. If your messages weren't creepy enough, your lack of literacy really lets you down.
My "name and shame" policy generated heated responses, as I included the name of the protagonist next to their text. Some thought I should have ignored the message. But with so many coming through, and no doubt many more women receiving such harassment, shouldn't we publicly debate this trend?
Surprisingly, many people felt that it was unethical for me to include the name of the person who sent the message. They counselled me to take the moral high ground and hide the misdemeanour, saying I would be blessed for doing so. But my view is this: if I was walking along the street and a stranger came and whispered such words into my ear, I wouldn't hide their infraction – I would shout, yell or scream. I would specifically want the public to know the shame that such a person was perpetuating. And I would expect the public to look down on the protagonist and defend me – not the other way around.
Too often women are seen as being to blame for such behaviour, rather than the fact that they are its victims. Or they are told to brush it off as a bit of fun. Just because it takes place in the virtual world doesn't make the harassment any less real.
January 7, 2011
Anatomy of an Islamic Country
This is my monthly column in the latest edition of EMEL Magazine.
What do we mean – if anything – when we ask what does an 'Islamic' country look like? This is the question that I puzzled over as I sat in a traditional dhow at sunset, sailing down the creek that lies at the heart of old Dubai.
On one side was the historic area of Bastakiyya, where little houses and minarets populated the water's edge. As darkness fell, the adhan began to echo from both sides of the creek. I felt at peace; the call to prayer in stereo around me and the beauty of the reddening sun reflected on the water.
The UAE is at its core an Arabic nation with Arabic language and the traditional domed mosques with minarets that we think of as typical for an Islamic country. Next door to Saudi Arabia, it lies barely 12 hours by road to Makkah and Madinah. Despite a large expatriate population, which means that many people who live in the Emirates are not actually Muslim, practicalities like halal meat, the observance of Ramadan and national holidays in line with Islamic events are the norm. But does all of this make it Islamic?
What about Indonesia? Eighty-eight percent of its 237m population is Muslim – which means in absolute terms there are more Indonesian Muslims than all of the Arab Muslims in the world put together. Unlike most of its Arab counterparts, Indonesia's constitution is democratically based, and in principle at least allows for minorities to have their rights protected and participate fully in the nation's civic and political life. Yet Indonesians don't speak Arabic, don't wear abayas and are comparatively liberal when it comes to women participating in the public domain.
And what of India? According to the Pew Research Centre, Muslims make up over 13% of the Indian population and 10% of the world's overall Muslim population. Couple that with India's vast and powerful Mughal heritage and you have to wonder: if numbers and heritage are important, then surely India is an Islamic country?
Then we have Turkey – home of the Ottoman empire, and once again held in positive esteem by Muslims as its leaders speak up about Gaza, defend women's rights to veil and whose government is led by the AK Party – AK being the acronym for Justice and Development – but which has been dubbed an 'Islamist' party.
Is this the list of Islamic countries? Or does 'Islamic' or 'Muslim' mean something else?
But if we're looking at size and history as markers of being Islamic, then there is a whole list that qualifies. A few surprising examples might include: China (21 million, early to mid 7th century); Kazakhstan (almost 9m, in the 8th century), and even the USA (6.4m and possibly as early as the 10th century via Spain).
Clearly, population size, history, Arabic ethnicity and language, or sub-continental origins and even proximity to the Holy Cities go a long way towards shaping our ideas of a country that we consider 'Islamic.' But do these criteria still stand when countries that we might consider 'un-Islamic' appear to offer more freedom to practice Islam, and that also expound what appear to be Islamic principles. Consider examples such as the welfare state to take care of the poor, or laws to prosecute racial or sexual discrimination.
So, the answer to our question is not so clear-cut – the idea of a checklist of qualities by which we can identify an 'Islamic' country doesn't appear to hold water in the modern world. And this realisation has profound implications for the oft-repeated phrases of Dar al Islam and Dar al Kufr which are still used to shape Muslim thinking about world affairs. Those phrases relate to a time when religious identity was closely tied to citizenship. But even then, the Muslim empires had populations that were not Muslim but who held significant sway.
This means we need to think more carefully about glib categorisations of countries and populations as 'Islamic' or 'un-Islamic.' Today's world is not so black and white.
As for my boat ride along the Dubai creek – one thing I realised is that whilst we may want be wistful about a traditional past, what lies beneath is the drive towards a modern multicultural reality. As Muslims, rather than hark back to romantic images of what once was, what we need to address is how to implement Islamic values for the future.
January 6, 2011
When a doctor's surgery's staff member shows no compassion for its elderly patients
Now that I'm 38 weeks pregnant my husband has been pointing out that he thinks my pregnancy hormones are expressing themselves in my writing as a little bit of grumpiness. Where's the soft cute tone in my writing, he asks? I think he's wrong and my hormones are all fine, but nonetheless I find myself writing this new year mini-complaint.
I popped into my doctor's surgery this morning to drop off some paperwork. Although the building is new and beautiful, the entrance IMO is poorly designed as you have to walk along a lengthy pathway from the carpark to the main door. As a bumpy-expectant mother it took me about two minutes, and it is uphill as well. Add to this the fact that the rain is pouring down today.
As I exited the surgery and reached the bottom of the path I met a little old lady who was clearly struggling to climb up the walkway. I returned to the surgery and asked (as I have seen them do this before) if they could send a wheelchair down to assist her as she was really struggling.
The receptionist said no. No, they couldn't send a chair to the lady to help her arrive at the surgery. The reason? They didn't know why she was coming to the clinic. She might be there for one of the other services (all medical by the way) or to use the on-site pharmacy. I pressed upon her that this was a very frail lady and it was pouring with rain and she was finding the walk tough. The poor lady must have been in such difficulty that she had been willing to use me (a bumpy-about-to-pop pregnant woman) as an aid to walking.
I was shocked at the receptionist's refusal to send assistance. After all – isn't the whole point of a health centre/surgery to take care of the patient's well-being? Wasn't easing her walk part of that care? The worst part was that she wasn't even fussed. So the surgery clearly didn't care, and this woman had no humanity or compassion for an old lady.
Shame on you.
When a doctor's surgery shows no compassion for its elderly patients
Now that I'm 38 weeks pregnant my husband has been pointing out that he thinks my pregnancy hormones are expressing themselves in my writing as a little bit of grumpiness. Where's the soft cute tone in my writing, he asks? I think he's wrong and my hormones are all fine, but nonetheless I find myself writing this new year mini-complaint.
I popped into my doctor's surgery this morning to drop off some paperwork. Although the building is new and beautiful, the entrance IMO is poorly designed as you have to walk along a lengthy pathway from the carpark to the main door. As a bumpy-expectant mother it took me about two minutes, and it is uphill as well. Add to this the fact that the rain is pouring down today.
As I exited the surgery and reached the bottom of the path I met a little old lady who was clearly struggling to climb up the walkway. I returned to the surgery and asked (as I have seen them do this before) if they could send a wheelchair down to assist her as she was really struggling.
The receptionist said no. No, they couldn't send a chair to the lady to help her arrive at the surgery. The reason? They didn't know why she was coming to the clinic. She might be there for one of the other services (all medical by the way) or to use the on-site pharmacy. I pressed upon her that this was a very frail lady and it was pouring with rain and she was finding the walk tough. The poor lady must have been in such difficulty that she had been willing to use me (a bumpy-about-to-pop pregnant woman) as an aid to walking.
I was shocked at the receptionist's refusal to send assistance. After all – isn't the whole point of a health centre/surgery to take care of the patient's well-being? Wasn't easing her walk part of that care? The worst part was that she wasn't even fussed. So the surgery clearly didn't care, and this woman had no humanity or compassion for an old lady.
Shame on you.
January 1, 2011
Do I have to party just because it's new year?
Here is my weekly column for The National UAE (with special news at the end!)
All week, friends and colleagues have been asking me "What are you doing for New Year?" Or they have been bragging about how they will be spending New Year's Eve themselves at wild outlandish parties or in exclusive venues. The truth about how I spent this hallowed eve is this: I had nothing planned.
c. Mark A Hicks discoveryeducation
As I write this ahead of midnight, I expect that dinner will be eaten, laundry will be washed, sofas will be slouched upon and end of year TV watched. In fact, I expect to have fallen asleep much earlier than usual.
I know I sound like a grumpy old woman. I don't intend to. And I have nothing against celebrating the birth of the new year. I have no objections to it on grounds of religious innovation, or that it is "just another day".
Plenty of festivals mark the passing of the circle of life: birthdays, anniversaries, Thanksgiving and Harvest Festivals to name but a few. Even the religious-minded celebrate occasions such as Eid al Fitr which marks the renewal and purification after the month of fasting, and the religiously recommended Walima dinners to mark weddings and births.
The truth is that everything in the UK has been in festive mode since the slowdown caused to the pace of life by the two recent bouts of snow and the final halt to activity as a result of the holiday season. I've already been spending time visiting friends and relatives, eating delicious food and entertaining at home for the last two weeks, and frankly, I'm tired. Did I have to party just because it's new year? Couldn't I stay home in my comfy pyjamas with a mug of hot chocolate?
I was also trying to hide from those pesky questions about New Year Resolutions. I bet you get them too… where people pry into your personal business by asking what you are going to change about yourself in the coming 12 months. Will you lose weight? Have you signed up to a new gym? Those are the typical ones. Others include getting out of your deadbeat job, moving house or taking up a new skill or hobby. Whatever answer you give, the response will inevitably be "my resolution is to give up making resolutions", which forces you to make your first and only resolution to resist punching your co-conversationalist. Because if you really did want to take the opportunity to make a big change in your life, it might be something of an epic and deeply personal nature that you had no wish to share with someone at a noisy party.
You might want to resolve some childhood trauma, bring peace to a long term family dispute, or use liposuction to remove the wobbly fat on your bottom. I have no wish to share such intimacy just because it's midnight on December 31st.
There's no doubt that the end of the year is a natural time for stock-taking, but this is a personal matter and doesn't need to be a matter of collective angst masked under communal cheer.
As always, the year had its highlights and lowlights. As always, the first of January brings with it anxiety and excitement in equal measure about what the year will hold. And beneath my grumpy response to the start-of-year festivities, I await this year's events with trepidation and nervous delight.
Here is my first piece of news: I am expecting my first baby later this month, inshallah. Perhaps I can ask you to pray for the success and health of the little one as part of the start of your new year.
December 25, 2010
It's Christmas! Let's make bonds through celebrations
This is my weekly column for The National UAE, published today.
I used to love singing Christmas carols, even though I'm a Muslim. As a young child at primary school, we were handed out special booklets once a year and together sang rousing carols that had been passed down over centuries. I loved Silent Night in particular, with its elegant melody and soothing tones. And also because it had no words in it that contradicted my religion as a Muslim.
I had to be more careful with the carol Away in a Manger. As the whole school sang the words the little Lord Jesus, I changed them under my breath to "the little baby Jesus"so I would still be in synch with the Islamic view of Jesus's importance as a prophet. And in the carol O Come all Ye Faithful, I changed the words "Christ the Lord" to "Allah the Lord". No harm done, eh?
I didn't mean any disrespect to my Christian friends, I simply loved the togetherness of the singing and wanted to be part of it, but not compromise my religion.
Although I was only seven, I can see now my efforts were an attempt to connect my own place in the world with a wider universal experience.
We live in a world where our social circle increasingly consists of people from different backgrounds. Secret attempts to adjust the words of Christmas carols is probably not the adult way to connect with others, but attempting to find the common points in our experiences and world views does become ever more important.
c. rossparry.co.uk
For example, for the past few years, the Islamic celebration of Eid al Adha, the festival marking the Haj, has fallen close in timing to Christmas. And this year, two festivals of light, Hanukkah and Diwali, fell close by, too. Much the same tinsel, streamers and wrapping paper can be used in the exchange of gifts, whatever your religious position. But more significantly, lessons of common human experience and morality can also be shared.
As someone who has grown up celebrating Eid, but totally immersed in Christmas culture by virtue of living in a Christmas-celebrating environment, I can see more similarities than people might expect. Both festivals mark individuals of great standing in the Abrahamic faiths – Jesus and Abraham. Both allude to a spirit of sacrifice (although with all the shopping and indulgence we may be inclined to forget this). Both have become a time of sharing and family, and remembering people less well off than ourselves.
Am I painting a cuddly, loving picture of interfaith and intercultural harmony? Yes. And why not? If religious and even secular celebrations teach us anything, it's to share our love and promote togetherness in the hope of living better lives.
Hundreds of millions, if not billions, of people around the world are celebrating today. It's true that some people have turned it into an excuse for consumption and gluttony, spending profligately on presents, food, clothes and partying. But let's also remember that, for many people across the world, Christmas is a time of pious devotion, the gathering of family, or simply a much-needed rest from the chaos of overly busy lives.
As a child, I found something to connect to in the Christmas carols by making some slight alterations. As an adult, I have found the connections in the similarities with my faith. For all those celebrating Christmas, let us rejoice with those who find their own meaning in the message of today.
December 22, 2010
The Trouble with Marriage
Marriage is a topic which is difficult to discuss, and in which to create change for Muslims. No wonder, since it comes with heavy religious weight and touches on almost every aspect of life.
Image by way of Zawaj.com
Most young people aspire to a mutually fulfilling relationship in marriage, but this can sometimes take longer than they might like and throw up significant challenges. The lack of community standing for unmarried individuals is one such challenge. The unmarried are seen as children yet to acquire maturity. This is evidenced in simple words such as the reference to the unmarried as 'the boy' and 'the girl' rather than as grown men and women.
In particular, a woman in many Muslim communities only seems to acquire social standing after her marriage. She is advised that she will be given her freedoms once she has arrived in her husband's home and becomes her husband's responsibility. Single women must remain cautious of what they say and do because any unrestrained word or action will affect their marriage prospects. It's almost as though she isn't a real person if she's unmarried.
But just because "marriage is half your faith," does not make an unmarried individual half a person. An increasing point of contention is how much choice the man or woman has in selecting their future spouse, and how much is done under the direction of their parents. It is a false dichotomy with which many families pressurise their children: that you may choose your own spouse or be loyal to your parents and culture. Of course, advice, encouragement and support from parents is invaluable – but ultimately the decision must rest with the individuals concerned.
The problem is that marriage is often seen as a cultural activity, and so cultural factors become more significant than religious directives. It's about picking the 'right' family or the 'right' caste (didn't Islam do away with castes?); the 'right' job or the 'right' wealth. Or it's about picking someone from 'back home' as the 'right' thing to do – to find a more compliant wife; to transport the extended family over to Britain; or to ensure that undue pressure can be exerted in internal family matters. For many years, the blame for challenges to the marriage process was laid at the door of parents and families. And the issues above (by no means an exhaustive list) continue to persist.
However, new challenges are beginning to emerge which need to be openly discussed in order to find solutions. Despite the pressure to marry 'within' the culture, traditional networks of extended families and matchmakers are breaking down, unable to connect prospective spouses who are a good match for each other. So where to go to look for 'The One'? New arenas are opening up – such as online matrimonial sites, speed dating, or marriage events. These are good opportunities, but are complicated to navigate and have plenty of pitfalls for the uninitiated. Speed dating is a particularly thorny one – how can you possibly get past the superficial layer of knowing someone in a mere three minutes? And internet sites can be just as perilous, with caution being required when dealing with unknown and distant parties.
By far the most challenging is managing the expectations of the two individuals, and ensuring men and women have an understanding of the other so that a relationship can be properly constructed. It is worrying how often complaints are levied that "women are only looking for a big bank balance" and "men are only after a pretty doll." Laughable though these may seem, such misleading expectations range from the superficial to much deeper differences in attitudes about what a marital relationship should entail. And these differences are rarely discussed until it's too late.
With all the emphasis on family, culture and social conformity, what is forgotten is to nurture the new relationship that is being formed. The wedding becomes the big event instead of the marriage. We need to reverse this situation.
Marriage lessons, or pre-marital counselling, ought to be a must for the couple – and for both sets of in-laws too. Perhaps those conducting nikahs should insist on such lessons before agreeing to perform the religious rites – thereby investing in the long term durability of the marriage.
If we want to reverse the tide of difficulties in the spouse selection process, and to stem the rising divorce rate, then we need to identify the underlying problems. And we need to do that very difficult thing: recognise the problems and create change in our cultures and attitudes.
December 19, 2010
Snowman theft more significant than it appears
My weekly column in The National UAE was published yesterday.
As soon as the UK enjoys a light fluttering of snow, ordinary life comes to a standstill. In the past few weeks, winter has brought more of the white stuff than was expected, and cars, roads and deliveries seemed incapable of functioning.
There was nothing on the news except TV reporters dressed in unattractive windbreakers stationed next to snow drifts in obscure locations. It seems that it's not just the roads that the snow brings to a halt, but common sense as well.
The emergency number 999 recorded the following call to the police.
"There's been a theft from outside my house," said a distressed woman.
When the emergency telephone operative asked her when the incident occurred she responded: "I'm not sure exactly; I ain't been out to check on him for five hours but I went outside for a fag and he's gone."
"Who's gone?"
"My snowman. "
Confused, the 999 operator asked her if it was an ornament that had gone missing, and the woman answered without irony: "No, a snowman made of snow. I made him myself."
The operator was silent, presumably never having dealt with the theft of a snowman.
The woman went on: "It ain't a nice road but at the end of the day, you don't expect someone to nick your snowman, you know what I mean?" True story.
The audio recording was made public by the police, who called the woman "irresponsible".
I've listened to it at least 15 times so far, and it is the best source of belly laughs and tension release that I can find. But if you can find a moment between chuckles and after you've picked yourself up off the floor, there is something that I find rather charming about the story.
We ought to find the incident morally wrong – theft. Why should the theft of a snowman be any less meaningful than that of food from a supermarket, or flowers from a garden? If it's the fleeting nature of snowmen that makes the story so funny, then all these items are equally perishable.
Is this woman silly in her distress over her loss because of the childish nature of a snowman? But she had built it with her own hands, and created a work of art. Perhaps it wasn't a very good one, but why shouldn't it be protected? And the woman's bewildered innocence seems underlined by the fact that her creation was made of snow – something that we think of as pure and innocent in its own right, something that stands as a moment of beauty and purity in opposition to the grimy, gritty world that lies underneath and that we can forget about, if only for a few days or a few minutes.
Our instinct is to laugh at the caller for her stupidity in reporting the theft of something valueless that will disappear anyway – like a snowman. Perhaps our giggles are more bitter than we might think, however. We're laughing more at the woman's innocence and optimism that purity and childhood innocence can triumph in the face of a world that is too often disappointing, and full of hard knocks.
When we lose hope that innocence and joy can prevail, and we no longer value the worth of our contributions, then, dear readers, that is the cause for communal emergency. Just don't call the police to report our loss, or you may find yourself broadcast on primetime television.
Listen to the recording of the call here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-kent-11908583
December 14, 2010
WikiLeaks proves that the whole world loves to gossip
This is my weekly column for The National, published over the weekend.
This week's big story was the publication and aftermath of the leaked US cables by WikiLeaks.
Yes, we're interested because we get to see the inner workings of the US machinery of state in its uncensored form. We're avidly eating popcorn as the Hillary Clinton saga unfolds as she calls for China to be more open about sharing state information and embracing the internet whilst at the same time advocating "aggressive steps" against those at WikiLeaks.
image via wdavidphillips.com
But what we secretly love is the utterly trivial gossip that even high-level diplomats exchange.
North Korea's Kim Jong-il was described as a "flabby old chap", Colonel Gaddafi's long-time Ukranian nurse is a "voluptuous blonde" and Russia's Prime Minister Putin and President Medvedev were described as the double act "Batman and Robin". Partying makes Berlusconi tired (we learnt separately of his "bunga bunga" parties) and Turkmenistan's president wanted a yacht as big as that of the Russian tycoon Roman Abramovich, but he couldn't have one, as it would have been too big for the waters he sails in. My favourite story, though, is the one of Sarkozy chasing a rabbit around the office. And no, that isn't a euphemism for anything.
See – now you're interested, aren't you? You're going to go and tell your colleagues, friends and families about the rabbit story. You're probably Googling it as you read this.
We shouldn't be horrified that US diplomats are engaging in this sort of secret office activity under the banner of classified information – please admit it, the rest of us are just as guilty. For us it is Monday-morning banter by the coffee machine, for those political animals it is all hi-tech cables and online memos.
Ooh, those naughty juvenile diplomats with deplorable moral standards, is what journalists as well as ordinary folk have been saying, before turning to the unbelievable thing that Sara wore at the office do, or the unfortunate turn of phrase that your colleague used in a meeting with the company's biggest client. The only thing is, none of us expect to have our confidential opinions put on such public display, otherwise we too would be a lot more careful.
The question is, where is the line between the useful information that you need to exchange in order to do your job, and the superfluous details that we like to share in order to dish the dirt? The former makes you successful in your career, the latter makes you into a Bad Person.
There is a gender dimension to this as well. We say that women gossip, while men engage in "networking", "bonding" or perhaps even "international diplomacy". The latter is surely the name for some of the gossipy content of the cables published by WikiLeaks.
Nicole Hess, an anthropologist at the University of California at Santa Barbara, calls gossip "informational warfare".
And that is exactly what every office worker – from admin staff at your local business all the way up to senior officials at the US state department – is engaged in every day.
Information has never been so powerful. And with so many unverifiable sources of information production and an even greater number of channels through which to disseminate it, how will we learn to distinguish what is truth and what is malicious rumour? More worryingly, perhaps there are those who don't want us to know the difference. After all, gossip sticks. You'll never think of Sarkozy without the image of a rabbit, and in your mind Gaddafi's voluptuous blonde will always be by his side.
December 6, 2010
Does it matter how women get power?
I'm posting this belatedly. It's my weekly column from The National written shortly after the engagement of Prince William and Kate Middleton was announced.
The world will have one more princess when Prince William weds Kate Middleton next year. Young girls dream of growing up to be a princess. Even grown women may secretly aspire to the hallowed status of princess in our societies, a status granted for no other reason than who her father or husband is.
Courtesy of Tricycle Theatre
Despite the fact that princesses are often seen in simplistic, caricatured Disneyesque terms, I must confess that I still tingle when I'm called "Princess" by my father or my husband, or even my female friends. It makes me feel special, unique and anointed.
A different part of me, however, is annoyed at the Kate Middletons of the world who marry into power and status and then claim the title of princess, thereby elevating themselves above us mere mortals. What exactly did she do to deserve her revered status?
Women who marry into princess-type roles – whether into royal families or rich, influential ones – are still trumpeted as powerful women. For example, the Forbes list of 100 most powerful women in the world had Michelle Obama at the top. By contrast, Angela Merkel's husband isn't cited as wielding power or influence, nor is Prince Philip.
Does it really matter how you get to your position of power and influence, or is it what you do with it that is more important? If you ask that question about men in positions of authority, the general answer is that how they got their power does matter. It tells us something about who they are, their motivations and their modus operandi.
We look down on men who marry into jobs, we expect them to be elected or appointed by merit not connections. And when it comes to experts we want to be sure that advice and consultancy is delivered by those with the greatest knowledge, experience and training, not the husband or son of someone.
We don't hold women to such standards. Marriage is seen as an acceptable way to assert social authority and status. The woman need not have any of her own intrinsic merit. The upshot of this attitude is that women are judged less on their talents and more on their families and whether they are married or not. A single woman has lower social standing and respect.
Of course, once you are in a position of influence, it's what you do with it that is important. A notable example from the recent press is Aung San Suu Kyi, who carries her father's mantle for freedom in Burma, now known as Myanmar. The Middle East has plenty of these female advocates, too, including Queen Rania, Sheikha Mozah and Queen Noor. They are out there making a difference.
For the princesses, queens and first ladies of the world, their power is fleeting and dependent. So let's not commend their acquisition of it through marriage or by association with their men. What we can and should commend are the activities they proactively engage in to maximise the social good.
Such women who make the most of their positions to help others and make society better – whether they are found on royal family trees or power lists or whether you come across them in local communities, your extended family or your colleagues at work – these are the women who are the real role models of the world, and the ones we should aspire to be.
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