Friday 8 March 2013

Enough is Enough!


As International Women's Day draws to a close, I'm left with a feeling of ambivalence. While I celebrate the achievements of women, I'm angry at the hardships we still face, the hatred, discrimination and violence we endure, often at the hands of the men to whom we are so devoted.
I'm angry because women, who are economically dependent on their husbands are being neglected, discarded and disregarded. On this day, the 8 March 2013, I listened to two stories about women who were abandoned by their husbands...stories that reminded me of how far we have to go. The first was of a woman who finds herself in the middle of a court case because her husband has refused to provide for her and their children even though he has been claiming allowances on their behalf. She had agreed to stay 'back home' and take care of their children, so that he could focus on his career abroad. The result was that he decided to act as though neither she, nor her children exist. The second account is of a woman who just died from an illness which was probably stress-related because she was working so hard to provide for her children, after her husband, their father, abandoned her and them. She believed that the long hours, distances and stressful conditions were necessary evils if it meant that she, alone could provide for them and ensure that they didn't want for anything. Both stories, which are quite similar made me ask the question: how can the men we love, and who once loved us so much, turn around and show such total disregard for our well-being? I recently read a book called Tiny sunbirds far away which dealt with a similar theme - a woman abandoned with her children by her husband, who decides to leave the home they once shared to be with his mistress. The woman is forced to return to the impoverished home of her parents with her children after months of her husband not providing her with any financial assistance. I recall being quite angry as I read the heart-wrenching account of how her children's lives are turned upside down and thinking that the author, a woman, was too harsh on the husband., I went as far as accusing her of projecting her own issues and struggles with men in her life,  onto this character. I told myself that surely, he must have one redeeming characteristic, having convinced myself that no man could be so heartless as to completely abandon his children. And yet today, I feel saddened by these two accounts, both true, and proof that such callous indifference to the suffering of women and their children is not only possible, it happens, fare more often that we may realise.
I'm angry at a report on Al Jazeera of the prevalence of sexual violence in Asia; a report that claims that one in four Cambodian men have admitted to taking part in a gang rape. I still feel pain when I hear about the girl who was gang raped on a bus in New Dehli, and died days later. I'm reminded of the witnesses of the Rwandan genocide and the war in Sierra Leone, whose statements recounted the most horrific stories of sexual violence and brutality at the hands of men who claimed to be fighting for a cause. I'm mad as hell to think that part of their protest should include violating the bodies of sisters, mothers, daughters and grandmothers simply because they can. I feel the tears, appear uncontrollably when I recall the cases of traumatic fistula in hospitals in Sierra Leone, the numerous accounts of this awful dehumanising condition that have resulted from brutal acts of rape of women in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I think about how reports on the prevalence of rape in South Africa, where statistics suggest that a rape is committed every four minutes, makes me recoil. No matter how many case studies I read, statistics I hear, I can never distance myself from acts of sexual violence against women.

I am livid at the accounts of domestic violence, often resulting in the death of women at the hands of their husbands, partners, lovers. I remember a late colleague from Cote d'Ivoire who was murdered by men hired and paid by her promiscuous husband. I remember my reaction at the time being horror but the strangely banal question of why he didn't just continue cheating or better still, leave her? Why murder her and cause the heartache of countless others, her son, her parents and her siblings? I saw a report that on International Women's day men in Russia give flowers to the women in their lives, yet every year there are 12,000 deaths of women, deaths that result from domestic violence. I can't help but be resentful towards Oscar Pistorius, who shot his girlfriend four times - allegedly because he thought she was an intruder - a suspicion that could have allayed by the simple act of switching on a light switch. I'm equally incensed by the other stories that have emerged of athletes who have killed their partners for reasons ranging from their refusal to abort a pregnancy they did not support to their desire to preserve a reputation that would otherwise be ruined by a fling that went too far.
Rather than feeling proud on a day that celebrates women all over the world and their achievements, I am angry and sad and frustrated that we still endure so much hardship, that there are women who feel powerless in a physical, emotional or financial way. And yet I'm driven by of all these stories to support the women I come across who may need help but don't know how to ask. I hope I can to be part of the initiatives that teach young girls to be independent and strong and to love themselves first and foremost. I also hope that we can engage with the men, including the would-be wife-batterers or negligent husband, the soldiers and self-styled freedom-fighters who think brutality against women is part of warfare, I hope we can engage them so that they realise the far reaching consequences of their actions.
I feel its time for us to say in as loud a voice as we can, "Enough is Enough", and then move beyond the words and the feelings of anger and frustration to action that guarantees the safety, security and independence of women all over the world.

Sunday 3 March 2013

Does black history month matter?


This year's Black History month ended on Thursday. The history and achievements of African-Americans is celebrated each year in February, a month which some African-Americans complain is far too short to celebrate their heritage. While I have the utmost respect for African-Americans as a people - for having overcome the injustices of slavery, and the subsequent laws and policies that sought to keep them down - I can't help but wonder as someone living in New York City, "How much have they really achieved?". This question may seem laughable in light of the fact that the President of these United States of America (as he often refers to the country) is Black. But let's not forget he is not African-American in the sense that we use the term - he is of African and American heritage but not a product of slavery. His ancestors did not arrive in Virginia in the 1600s as slaves, and although he has certainly benefitted from the civil rights movement, he wasn't born into a family that fought for the right to sit in the same part of the cinema or bus or restaurant as white people. I would argue that while things have certainly changed for the better for black people in the US, there is still so much that needs to be done.

New York has the largest black population than any city in the United States- 24% of the population yet a whopping 60% of homicide victims are Black. The statistics are similar when we talk about poverty, illiteracy and so many other related social problems. I am more aware of people judging and pigeon-holing me as a black person living in the city than I ever was living in London. That is not to say racism is less prevalent in London but it is not expressed as often and openly as it is here in the New York. It seems as a black person you carry the burden of being part of a population at least in NYC, who are mostly poor, uneducated, criminals and drug addicts. Regardless of whether I'm wearing a suit, bigots and racists (of which there are many) will judge me up until the moment I open my mouth and they realize that I am not another African-American- baby-mama-on-welfare- ignorant-inarticulate - a product of the Projects (low-cost government housing usually synonymous with the Ghetto). Its laughable because there are countless educated African-Americans but the prevalence of being judged in this city leads me to conclude that we, the educated black population must be a drop in the ocean compared to the criminals and druggies. Why else would be face racial stereotyping on such a consistent basis? Flagging yellow taxis in Manhattan becomes an issue where flagging black cabs in London never was; estate agents and landlords assume I do not have the means to pay for an apartment until I provide so much documentary proof that they may as well be asking me to give them my first born child. And while its conceivable to think that everyone goes through these checks, I'm confident not everyone gets asked before providing any personal details if they're aware that the prices they'd be dealing with are over a certain amount. As though I stumbled in a particular area which is clearly above my modest means, by mistake. My experience in the hospital system where I was threatened with a child service referral because I dared question the motivation of a doctor who insisted on keeping my well child in for longer than I considered necessary. My child's babysitter, on the other hand, a single black parent was referred to the child services because an over zealous child service official thought that her delay in providing a car seat to take a premature newborn home was symptomatic of a negligent parent who needed to be watched. What I find most unforgiving of these stereotypes is that there is evidence of a solid black educated class all around me. My GP (family doctor) for instance is African-American, her twin is also a doctor and her brother a lawyer - and it's not just her generation, her parents are also professionals. There are countless African-American families who are third generation postgraduate degree holders. There are numerous black families who have owned beautiful brownstones in Brooklyn and Harlem for decades, that are now worth millions of dollars. Historically black colleges have produced greats like Martin Luther King, Oprah Winfrey, Samuel L Jackson, Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. The contributions made by descendants of slaves as well as the African and Caribbean immigrant population has been indispensable to the creation of World's superpower. Yet the level of racism in this country is startling, the lack of understanding and appreciation for one another between White and African-Americans is obvious, to outsiders and to Americans themselves.

Nonetheless African-Americans have a lot to be proud of and one of the positive things about the month of February is that they remind the whole country of their achievements. From the broadcasting of award shows like the NAACP Image Awards and BET Honors, that celebrate individuals, famous and not, who have contributed to their societies, to countless films made by and starring African-Americans to museum events, literary events and many more celebrations. In February, we forget for a moment the statistics about the education system that fails black children, and about the number of incarcerated black men there are and for a refreshing 28 or 29 days we remind ourselves that there is so much to be proud of. My only concern is that these examples of African-American success are not broadcast widely enough. Perhaps the taxi driver who tells me that he almost didn't stop for me because "let me be honest with you, black people don't always pay and when they do, they don't tip" could do with some positive images of black people. He and the many people like him could do with being reminded that there are more examples of Black success in the USA than any other country outside the African continent, if only people care to shed their bigotry and take a closer look.