I was taught at some point in my writing education (which admittedly occurred mostly later in life) that one should be sensitive when writing about other cultures, religions, ethnicities, skin colors, sexualities, etc. Basically speaking, one should be mindful when writing about any situation outside one’s own. Careful to temper judgments and accusations and wide-ranging sentiments.
Thus, when I sat down to write something about Mahsa Amini, I paused. First. I took a moment to absorb the gravity of what I had set out to do. Yes, I am a woman. However, I am a white non-religious Jewish woman living in New York. I could expand upon the implications of those categories, but for brevity’s sake, it puts me far outside the zone I would need to be in to walk a mile in Ms. Amini’s shoes.
I have often bristled when looking at the restrictions and rules imposed on women in many religions, Judaism being one of them, but also, I have tried to keep perspective. I have looked at my freedoms and my upbringing. I have examined my narrative deeply and unabashedly; the one I have cultivated since I had a mind to, and the beginnings of such, as supplied by my liberal and loving parents.
I was raised as a social activist. I was encouraged to be interested in the plight of others and fight for what I believe to be universal rights. But also, my activist education was tinged with insistence that I understand the circumstances of others before I lay down my tiny and fierce fist.
So, I did research. I read. And read. And read some more. And at the end of the reading, I was just as furious and just as broken hearted as when I began my process.
I do truly understand that there are religions and ways of life that encourage a particular kind of modesty. Hell, there are times that I’ve encouraged such amongst friends and colleagues, only so that as women, we can be heard and respected without our bodies acting as a deterrent (which is revolting, and even writing those words raises bile in my throat). This thought process is not a succumbing to the horror show that is sexism and the objectification of women, but rather, is an awareness. Perhaps we can fight for a seat and then, make our own rules. But maybe, that notion has been misguided. Maybe, it is that thinking that has supported this bullshit in the most subvert fashion. This terror. This criminal behavior.
Maybe I’ve been going about all of this all wrong. Because, really, I have a more challenging time understanding the thought process behind that special breed of conservatism that punishes women. The kind that holds women responsible for the actions of men. Keep your hair covered, lest a man lust after you. Don’t wear a skirt that short, lest a man desire to have you, even if you say no. Keep your eyes averted, lest a man decide that eye contact is an invitation.
I’ve been trying to understand and struggling with that understanding and then, also, I’ve been supporting this narrative in my own country, in my own workplace, in my own social circles. I have started many sentences with ‘if you want them to take you seriously…’ I have. I’m sick over it now, but that’s the truth. And perhaps, you are now thinking that what I’m talking about is a far cry from what happened to Ms. Amini.
Is it though? Are you certain?
When a line has not erased or eroded, or when that line is inherently movable, then what happens when the line must be brought back or reinforced? How do we say that we will go this far but no further? I want to be a human who is respectful of religions that exist outside my mostly secular existence. I want to say that even when I don’t understand, it’s not my place to impose judgment. I want to say that, but I don’t think I can anymore. The same way that I don’t want to encourage my friends and colleagues to be good girls so they can shrink wrap themselves into a package that’s less sexual and more admirable by the male species.
Yes, I am aware that I am talking about a subset of men. There are many good men that I know who respect and love women. MANY. I am not condemning men here. I am also not condemning Muslims, or Orthodox Jews, or conservative Christians. I am not. I am just saying that I think it is irresponsible of me to not outwardly grieve the loss of such a beautiful young life for such fanatical and oppressive reasonings. I am just saying that silence is not a sign of respect for religious freedom, but rather, is an acceptance of sorts. An acceptance of violence perpetuated against women in the name of fanaticism. An acceptance of hatred perpetuated against a human simply because of rules imposed singularly against their sex. An acceptance of a willingness to live in a world that is so radically opposed to progress that it clings to a time that did not support women living as free-thinking, bold, creative creatures.
This is no longer about a hash tag or loud whispers behind office doors. This is no longer about hand-wringing underneath board room and kitchen tables. We are no longer in a position to disavow an incident because it’s too far away and too outside our everyday lives and too foreign to our regular doings. This is not just about women. This is about all of us.
We are watching a story about HUMAN rights unfold in front of us, in a rapid and terrifying fashion. We can be grateful that we live where we live and do what we do, but if we allow ourselves to be blind to the plight of our fellow humans, we are lost. We have all but given up. We have abandoned our sense of decency. And if we lose that, if we let that fade away, then really, we have nothing at all. We are husks. Shells. Worthless. So, let’s be better.
Mahsa Amini was twenty-two years old. When I was twenty-two, I made a slew of bad decisions, and I’m still here to write about it.
Let’s. Do. Better.
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