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Not in Our Name: On Palestine, Pinkwashing, and Pride

By Kit Nicholson

This infographic was taken from the Instagram page @noprideingenocide_ on a post titled “NO PRIDE IN GENOCIDE – BOYCOTT MIAMI BEACH PRIDE.” Be sure to follow them for great informational content on pinkwashing and on radical queer/trans organising for Palestine.

It’s June – Pride month and also eight horrendously long months into the Gazan Genocide – which means that my social media feeds are filled with a dizzying collage of rainbow jockstraps and charred corpses. Since the start of the month, it seems as if every single person on the Internet has suddenly become an expert on queer folk, what we think, and what we should or shouldn’t be doing. I consider myself pretty Internet savvy, to be honest, and I’ve seen a wide variety of homophobic and transphobic posts ever since I took to social media. However, this year has really taken the cake.

As queer folk, we’re no stranger to having our identities – our love – politicised by people across the world and across politician spectrums. It’s honestly exhausting. In the last few months alone, I have, like so many of us, seen the photos of Israeli soldiers proudly displaying their Pride flags beside their tanks and amidst the rubble and carnage of Gaza. A particular egregious example claims “In the Name of Love” in bold black ink.

I’m at a loss for words. My head is spinning and I feel sick to my stomach. What can I even say of this example which is but one incident in a vast sea of homophobic chaos?

First and foremost, I am completely and utterly disgusted – no, enraged is the right word – that my identity as a queer person is being used to justify the ongoing Occupation and the grave crimes against humanity being perpetrated by the Israeli government against the Palestinian people. Like so many queer activists and luminaries before me, I reiterate the call: NOT IN OUR NAME.

I truly cannot think of something more vile and more homophobic.

Much in the same way that Zionists pervert the ideas of Judaism and the lived experiences of the Jewish people to justify genocide, our rights and narratives as queer folk are also being manipulated (read: weaponised) for conservative political gain. Many Jewish activists have talked about how Zionism is the absolute antithesis of Jewish philosophy and how the manipulation of it is actually central to antisemitism. Concurrently, many people have raised the question at non-Israeli Western Zionists (looking at you, Genocide Joe) as to WHY they claim Israel is the only safe haven in the world for the Jewish people. Are international Jewish citizens not safe within their own respective countries?

As queer people, we have similar concerns. How DARE you invoke our names on your battlefield when you continually deny us access to our most basic human rights. How DARE you invoke our names on your battlefield AT ALL. Do your bombs not indiscriminately kill Palestinians – queer and straight, cis and trans – on a nearly daily basis? We didn’t come all this way just to turn our backs on our Palestinian brothers and sisters and fight for selective liberation. When we say that Love is Love and that Love Wins All, we absolutely mean it. We hold space for radically loving each other, radically loving others, radically loving peace, and radically loving what tomorrow will bring. The first Pride was a riot under these very tenets and we will not let you forget that.

To see the rest of Zaheer Subeaux’s thread, see here.

What Israel is doing is called pinkwashing.

The term pinkwashing was first coined in 2011 by journalist Sarah Schulman in an article titled “Israel and Pinkwashing” published in the New York Times. It is used to describe the way in which a self-declared liberal democracy will weaponise its supposed support of LGBTQ2IA+ individuals in order to legitimate the often racist and xenophobic violence and systemic oppression it reproduces onto other marginalised populations. That is, a pinkwashing country will position itself as a bastion of gay rights (whether true or not) in order to appear progressive as a socio-political smokescreen to the systemic and systematic violence it perpetuates onto what it perceives as “more dangerous” groups and/or communities.

Come and bring your money to Tel Aviv! We have *amazing* Pride parties and all the sexy hunks you could possibly dream of! Don’t worry about the Palestinians – whatever is happening over there they definitely deserve. Besides, they throw gay people off of buildings! Aren’t we just *so* much more fun?

This tactic has the added benefit of convincing naive, and frankly selfish, queer/trans folk to support the Powers That Be in a convoluted form of homonationalism. If you can convince the gays that the people “over there” hate them more than you do and that they are, in fact, lucky to be part of such a progressive society like yours, they are more likely to fight – and kill – for your cause. It’s a classic model minority scenario – by convincing one group that they’re better than the rest of the Others, they can then reinforce the same systems of violence down the hierarchy. It cannot be a coincidence, then, that in as little as one month after October 7, the Israeli government passed a bill recognising same-sex partners of fallen soldiers, while gay marriage remains unrecognised by Tel Aviv.

It doesn’t help that the Israeli government wants gay money. Many queer couples are DINKS (not to be confused with twinks) which stands for Dual-Income-No-Kids. This means that, instead of spending money on their children’s education, healthcare, and other expenses, they can more easily travel to places like Israel and spend those hard-earned dollars on expensive items and services and feed into the Israeli economy. It is worth noting that many queer couples are not DINKS by choice but instead by force, as the majority of the world does not allow for same-sex adoption or recognise same-sex parenting rights. We only have as many rights as our money can buy, right?

Maybe I’m a jaded sceptic, but I sincerely think that the demasculinisation of gay men plays a part in this process. We all know that violence is largely a man’s game (if you don’t, check out the proof here). So, by finally offering the critically demasculinised gay man a chance to “prove his manhood” and join in with “the bros,” you can solidify his support for your genocidal regime.

All of this is a useful propaganda tool. In Israel’s case, by juxtaposing the progressive “love-loving” Israeli state with those “backwards and barbaric Palestinians,” it, in the words of The Slow Factory, “perpetuates the false narrative that Palestinians are more deserving of Israeli militant occupation than liberation.” Not only does this negate the existence of queer and trans Palestinians who have existed for generations (see my interview with Takweer’s Marwan Kaabour here), but it also fuels the idea that certain people are more deserving of life and liberation than others.

Even IF Palestinians were the most homophobic people on the planet (newsflash: they’re not, just as they’re not a monolith), it still does not excuse the ongoing Occupation, the crimes against humanity, and the sheer amount of death and destruction heaped upon their shoulders by the Israeli Occupation Forces. No one deserves this.

You don’t have to take my word for it. In fact, there are so many people who can put into words exactly what we mean – and have been for years. Below, you’ll find a collection of posts, articles, and other assorted information by queer Palestinians themselves. The very least we can do is learn from and uplift their voices. Next, take action. Please see the donation link below to a verified mutual aid request fund for queer/trans Palestinians in the Occupied Territories and abroad. Any and all donations are sincerely welcome.

My queerness teaches me that love is not conditional and nor should it ever be. We know what it is like to be at the receiving end of brutal systemic violence and to have our identities systematically erased. My allyship and dedication to total liberation for ALL people remains steadfast regardless of whether or not you’d support me in mine. And I’m not the only one. The international community of queer/trans folk have, for generations, overwhelmingly come out in support of Palestine. To paraphrase global queer icon Janelle Monáe’s recent Pride speech: It is for this reason [our unwavering advocacy and support for the Palestinian people and all other marginalised groups] that I couldn’t be more proud of our queer community.

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Mutual Aid Fund for Queer & Trans Palestinians and Front-Line Organisers

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Sport, politics, and solidarity

by Rebecca O’Keeffe

The Palestinian women’s national football team played a historic friendly match against Irish club Bohemian F.C. in Dublin on May 15th, 2024 in commemoration of the Nakba. This piece was written for the limited edition match programme.

At the heart of sport lies the principle of sportsmanship. A simple yet profound ethos that underscores the ordinary act of playing a game, a commitment to fairness and respect demonstrated most visibly by shaking hands and acknowledging your opponent with dignity—in victory or defeat.

This friendly match between the Palestinian women’s national team and Bohemian F.C. gives that ordinary act of sportsmanship an extraordinary significance. Today’s game, poignantly coinciding with the 76th anniversary of the Nakba (the 1948 “catastrophe” where Palestinians were subjected to ethnic cleansing, dispossession, and mass displacement), is more than just a game; it is a reminder of what should be ordinary but too often is not. The simple act of playing a game becomes a powerful symbol of the normalcy that is denied to Palestinians in their homeland—where the Nabka never really ended, as the tragedy of the current genocide highlights.

Today on the pitch, the ethics of sportsmanship dictate that all players are equal, that everyone is bound by the same rules in a fair competition. Today in Gaza and the West Bank, Palestinians face a reality where fairness and equality are non-existent, and every day is a struggle against an occupation where the rules are designed to deny them their very existence. This match acts as a canvas upon which the broader issues of occupation, oppression, displacement, apartheid and genocide are vividly illustrated, and emphasise the need for a world where the principles of sportsmanship extend beyond the game—a world where fairness, equality, and basic human dignity are as normal as a sporting handshake.

Israel’s attempts at erasing Palestinian life and identity are relentless, manifesting as unimaginable human cost, profound collective trauma, mass displacement, destruction of infrastructure and the devastation of cultural and academic heritage. The realm of sports has not been spared either, with the decimation of athletic facilities; stadia being converted into mass detention centres; the continued massacres of Palestinian athletes and coaches; and the weaponisation of Zionist propaganda in international sporting events. Even long before the current genocide, Palestinians faced systematic attacks on their sports clubs; targeted abuse and restricted movement of athletes; and repeated devastation of infrastructure—all of which have historically denied Palestinian athletes a level playing field.

There are those who will argue politics has no place in sports, as if the playing field exists in a vacuum, as if sporting bodies have no history of participation in political boycotts against nations that offend the virtues of sportsmanship on a global stage. The international boycott of apartheid South Africa and the swift exclusion of Russia and Belarus by these sporting bodies sit in stark contrast to their current silence and inaction regarding Israel’s egregious violations.

Perhaps then, it is sports that should have a place in politics. When the players take to the pitch today, praise their normal acts of sportsmanship as powerful symbols of the values and standards we demand of our governments and international sporting bodies. The complicity, selective morality, and double standards of these entities cannot be accepted in the face of apartheid. Yet even though their moral authority is questionable, we must still hold them to account, demanding a world where the ordinary act of playing a game should never be considered extraordinary.

While this exhibition match can serve as an important political reminder, it is, above all else, a significant show of solidarity. The enduring resistance of the Palestinian people combined with the long-standing and steadfast support of the Irish people, embodies the best of humanity and provides a glimmer of hope in these dark days. At a time when joy and play and laughter feel somewhat guilt-ridden, or incompatible with the collective grief and trauma being experienced globally, sport can offer rare relief—momentary freedom, even. The soccer tournament in Rafah during Ramadan last month is testament to this, as Palestinians fleetingly found escape and distraction despite their lives continuing to be so violently disrupted and marred by loss. What’s more, against the backdrop of occupation and oppression, Palestinians are affirming their right to life and dignity through the spirit of play, meaning sport becomes an act of resistance and hope remains indomitable.

Sport can be a catalyst for change and peace, and will undoubtedly contribute to future healing and rehabilitation, but for now, we will find solace in the solidarity it offers. Everyone’s attendance here today is a small but potent act of solidarity that acknowledges the humanity at risk of being lost amidst atrocity, while at the same time celebrating the persistence of the Palestinian players. Let this historic friendly match be a tribute to the power of sport to unite, and to remind us of the shared values that connect us all.

Viva Viva Palestina.

Rebecca O’Keeffe is a peace activist, author, and researcher. She is a former international basketball player and member of Irish Sport for Palestine.

Inside Takweer: An Exclusive with The Queer Arab Glossary’s Marwan Kaabour

By Kit Nicholson

Marwan Kaabour

Could you tell us a little bit about yourself and what you do for any readers who might not already know?

“My name is Marwan Kaabour. I’m a Lebanese artist, designer, and the founder of Takweer. I was born and raised in Beirut before moving to London in 2011. I did my master’s degree in Graphic Design at the London College of Communication at UAL which remains, to a large degree, my main profession. In 2012, I started working at Jonathan Barnbrook’s design practice. I have always admired Barnbrook’s approach to design which made space for political and social work in tandem with commercial projects. My own work has also always been politically and socially geared so finding space at Barnbrook was a natural fit. I started off as an intern and, by the time I left, I had been a senior designer for around four years. I worked with some of the UK’s and – maybe the world’s – most exciting cultural institutions such as the V&A Museum, Somerset House, and Art Basel among others. My farewell project was designing the Rihanna book for Phaidon.

Around the same time, in September of 2019, I founded Takweer. I was feeling frustrated that I wasn’t working on projects that I could connect with on a personal level as an Arab and as a queer person. I really needed an outlet for my personal interests and concerns. Additionally, I was also frustrated with how the narrative and discourse surrounding queerness, even within the Arab world, was very much rooted in the Eurocentric notion of how we should express and talk about ourselves. It seemed as if the main cultural references of all of the young queers back home came from RuPaul’s Drag Race. I wanted to counter that.

It all boils down to one moment when I was back in Beirut. I was in Bardo, a famous queer bar that has now sadly closed, and I was watching the drag show that they were putting on. There were around four or five drag queens in the show, and they were all wonderful. It was amazing to see how the drag scene in Beirut was thriving! However, I noticed that, out of all of the queens, only one of them was presenting in Arabic and making local references. At that moment, I remember wondering where the wealth of rich references to our own pop culture had gone. And that’s how Takweer was born. It was a way to reclaim our own history by using our own people’s narratives, histories, and popular cultures. Creating this space was an attempt to preserve this rich history – these references that only exist in the moments we share together or that only spread by word of mouth – before they die out.

Shortly after founding Takweer, I started my own design practice. My practice mainly focuses on bookmaking; I create books for museums, artists, and art organisations. I also develop branding for art and cultural exhibitions and events. At this point, I also began writing for different journals and magazines. It’s all an extension of what I do with Takweer. Most recently, with the ongoing genocide in Gaza, my political work has taken more of a central stage.

I started Takweer without understanding, really, where it was headed. Eventually, I started to view it as this open-ended and ongoing archive. It’s grown amazingly in the last four years. What once was a small passion project now has over 22,000 followers! It’s generated a lot of interest which has been really nice. My most recent project, The Queer Arab Glossary, is the amalgamation of all of the things that I’m interested in: graphic design, writing, languages, bookmaking, looking at the world through a socio-political lens, and putting a spotlight on queer Arabs. The book comes out on June 6, 2024, and it’s the first realised project to come out of Takweer.”

Can you highlight some examples of queer Arab history that you wish everyone knew?

“When you look at intimacy between people of the same sex, it has a long history in the Middle East. Many fluid relationships between same-sex or even non-binary people have existed throughout history. There was often this grey area where people were allowed to flow and where they were seen as simply ‘out of the norm’ or ‘quirky.’

In ancient Arab history, during the era of the first Islamic caliphates, there are numerous mentions of same-sex relationships; they’re mostly about men, but there are a handful that relate to women as well. There was even a specific type of poetry dedicated for men to speak about their love, admiration, and infatuation with other men. The classical Arab poet from the Abbasid Caliphate, Abu Nuwas, would constantly write about his desire for men, in fact. While, of course, there were conservatives who thought it immoral, that wasn’t the dominant discourse around queerness. There’s a famous story which is regarded as the first recorded instance of a lesbian relationship in Arab history from the 10th century. It’s this beautiful love story between two women: Al-Zarqa’ and Hind Bint al-Nu’man. When Hind died, her faithful lover cropped her hair, wore black clothes, and vowed to God that she would lead an ascetic life until she also passed away. She even built a monastery to commemorate her undying love for her lover.

Another famous story is about Abu Musa Muhammad ibn Harun al-Rashid: the sixth Abbasid Caliph. He apparently had no interest in marrying a woman yet would regularly sleep with both men and women. His mother was very concerned that he would never be able to produce an heir. She ended up gathering a group of ladies and cut all of their hair very short in an attempt to have him marry one of these ‘male-presenting’ women. In the end, her plan didn’t work. Her son fell in love with a young warrior who then passed away in battle. We know this because he wrote a beautiful poem in this man’s honour describing him in great detail – all the way down to the colour of his eyes and the shape of his body.

In more recent history, in 20th century Iraq, there was a famous folk singer called Masoud El Amaratly who was a part of the Ahwari community. Masoud was born as a girl but was never interested in doing traditionally feminine things. Eventually, he became a shepherd. One day, however, two men attempted to sexually assault him. In self-defence, he beat them up, took off their clothes, tied them up, and walked them back into town in order to shame them. The townspeople were so impressed by his courage, strength, and bravery that they let him live his life freely as a man. In fact, he is usually referred to with his chosen name rather than his birth name. However, when you read stories about him, you can sense that they tiptoe around the issue of him being a trans man by evasively mentioning his ‘very particular lifestyle.’ While the Iraqi people obviously love him – he’s a huge part of their history and culture – there is also a conservative tendency to reject him.

There are many more of these stories on Takweer; it’s a very rich archive that I’ve been building up for the past four years. The entries on the archive are organised by submission date, so what was posted in the beginning is just as relevant as what was posted most recently. Just scroll down and make sure to read all the captions! They’re usually very illuminating. The articles are always bilingual in Arabic and English.

Regarding your upcoming book, The Queer Arab Glossary, could you share with us some of your favourite slang words?

The Queer Arab Glossary

“My favourite word, one that I use with my friends, is the equivalent of faggot. If you wanted to say to your gay friend, for example, something like ‘Shut up, faggot,’ we use tobji in Lebanon. I know that some people might take offense but, whatever, deal with it. I didn’t know what it meant, at first; it’s just a slur that was used against me when I was younger. Because of this book, I finally managed to understand its etymology. So, the suffix at the end of the word – the sound ji – comes from Ottoman Turkish because Lebanon was under the Ottoman Empire for hundreds of years. It pertains to whatever the word before it is. So, let’s take khodarji, for example. Khodar are groceries so a khodarji would be a grocer. Niswan are women so a niswanji is a womaniser. Going back to tobji, we’ve got the ji. But what about the tob? Obviously, it has nothing to do with top and bottom. I found out that it was actually a word in colloquial Ottoman Turkish that meant gay. The origin of the word has to do with the practice of putting cannonballs inside of cannons which then became slang for gay. So, a tobji is a person who ‘performs the gay.’

The book is divided by dialect rather than by country. We have Levantine, Iraqi, Egyptian, Sudanese, Gulf, and Maghrebi. I decided to forego with nation states as a way to categorise, but I included a legend that tells you in which country each word/phrase is mostly spoken. One of my favourite words is from Tunisia. Shawwaya traditionally means grilling rack. However, there, it’s used to refer to a verse gay man because he has to flip over every now and again like meat on the rack. Another one of my favourites is ‘aqraba which means scorpion. This word refers to a woman, both cis and trans, who’s trying to poach your boyfriend (if speaking about a gay couple).

One thing that’s very particular about queer Arabic slang is, like Arabic, it’s very poetic and very visual. It’s heavy on metaphor. Some phrases really just paint a whole painting with only a couple of words. What I really wanted to capture is that humour and wit alongside this sense of macabre in a lot of the words. They really run the full range of emotions.”

Can you walk us through your investigative research process for The Queer Arab Glossary?

“I used Takweer and its followers as my main sources. In lock-down, which is when this project began, I posted a series of stories with a submission button where I introduced people to the research I was trying to do and asked them to tell me what words they were familiar with from their own languages, slang dialects, and/or localities. I asked them what these words meant to them and who normally uses them. The submissions were endless – just dozens and dozens and dozens of submissions. I then repeated this exercise multiple times and it very quickly grew to a few hundred submissions. It became a collective community project.

After I finished compiling the raw data, I began speaking with people on a one-to-one basis. I spoke with multiple people from each country and locality, people from diverse socio-economic backgrounds, and those who identify with the different gender and sexual identities along the queer spectrum. I approached people who spoke different dialects to confirm if they were familiar with these submitted words. I also asked if they themselves would use these words as well as which communities generally would. Sometimes you get contradictory accounts (which are both valid), so you have to admit the multiplicity in meanings. With queer slang, whether something is derogatory or endearing is always relative. Who is saying the word defines how it is. You always have to acknowledge both sides.

Then, for the very important final step, I had the honour of working with Suneela Mubayi. She’s a translator and independent writer of Kashmiri, Indian, and American Jewish descent. She’s amazingly fluent in Arabic; it’s wild. She has written extensively about a lot of queer issues, so she joined me as a co-editor of the Glossary. Her extensive historical knowledge gave brilliant context to a lot of the entries which she managed to situate historically, socially, and politically.”

Where do you see yourself in the future? Where do you envision this project going?

“I don’t know, yet, what I would like to do next. I’ve been practising graphic design for over 15 years now, and I love what I do but I can see myself starting to drift slightly away from actively practising it. Maybe I’ll take on an art director role that allows me to create work for myself while maintaining a design practice. I think nothing has brought me more joy than making this book as well as starting and nurturing Takweer.

The thing is: those projects make you no money whatsoever. All that I’ve done with Takweer has been without a single dime – it’s really just a labour of love. But, if I’m able to sustain myself and continue to produce work under the Takweer umbrella, that’s what I would like to do. I have more books in mind. There’s also exhibitions, workshops, and music-related project performance pieces that I have in mind. If I’m able to realise these projects – or even just a small handful of these projects – I would be very happy. But, yes, maintaining a space where I’m able to express my work in a multidisciplinary manner is where I’m at.”

Do you have any advice that you would like to give to other queer Arabs?

“For Arabs, specifically, if you come from a conservative, traditional, or difficult environment that you don’t feel is able to provide you with the love and the care that you deserve and are entitled to, just make sure you reach out to whoever is in your vicinity that can allow you to be embraced. Know that you’re definitely not the first nor will you be the last. Many have walked this path before, and it is possible to find joy and happiness. I know it’s hard, but try not to dwell too much in the harshness of that reality and try to grab whatever power and strength you have and direct it towards finding those people who will be able to provide you with that love. Our situation back home isn’t ideal, but the care is there. You just have to try and look for it.

For queer people around the world, my advice is to not get hung up too much on identity politics. Yes, it’s important to be recognised for who you are. Yes, it’s important to be visible and included. However, you are more than just a queer person; you are a full, complex, and contradictory person with needs, wants, and emotions that sometimes exceed your queerness. I find a lot of us getting stuck on labels and often saying: ‘I’m queer, and that’s what I’m all about.’ Great, Mama, but you are also so much more than that. Explore that and break out of the box that we’ve been trying so hard to break open; don’t put yourself back into it.”

What does feminism mean to you? How does it relate to queerness and everything else that we’ve talked about today?

“To me, they’re the same. You can’t be one without being the other; it’s always been that way for me. I’m very privileged that I was brought up in a feminist family and household. My mother’s side comes from a long lineage of women who have put the man aside and taken control of the ship, so to speak. I grew up with my six aunties and my many female cousins who never even allowed me to not be a feminist. To be honest, I just know that being a feminist is all about being a good and decent human being and not being an arsehole. That’s pretty much it. If there’s any bone in your body that somehow perceives a woman as being any different or any less than a man, then your moral compass is fucked, and you need to get it fixed.

What does it mean to me? It means looking at people as individuals who are multifaceted, complex, and often contradictory and accepting them. The minute you start to introduce hierarchy into any kind of group of people, you’re doing it wrong. It’s about not having hierarchy when you look at human beings. Instead, just look at them for who they are and treat them with that kind of respect. It’s almost banal and redundant to be saying these things, but the basic essence of it is not being an arsehole. That’s it.”

———-

For further information and to keep up to date with all of Marwan’s work, check out his website and follow him on Instagram at:

@ustaz_marwan

@takweer_

To pre-order The Queer Arab Glossary (available June 6, 2024), see here.

Marwan is also selling limited edition prints here to raise funds for the Palestinian Youth Movement. 70% of all proceeds will go towards charity.

Finally, see Marwan in conversation with the Bishopsgate Institute:

Liberation Fronts: Marwan Kaabour

I condemn your silence: Sexual violence against Palestinian women

By Lina AbiRafeh

This piece, used with permission, is an abridged version of the original which is published here.

Earlier this week, a collection of independent UN experts confirmed what we always knew to be true — raising serious concern about the credible and ongoing violence against Palestinian women at the hands of the Israeli military both in Gaza and in the West Bank. The title of the article — UN experts appalled by reported human rights violations against Palestinian women and girls — says it all.

Among a litany of other shocking human rights violations, at least two women were forcibly raped while many others were threatened with sexual violence. This is the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Palestinian women also have been forced to strip in front of male Israeli soldiers to be aggressively searched. Photos of these women were then posted online. Given that modesty is a huge part of many Palestinian women’s lives and beliefs, this sexual harassment becomes all the more violent.

And it’s not just women. Abdullah al-Zaghari, head of the Palestinian Prisoners’ Society, stated that detained Palestinian men have faced similar instances of sexual violence such as humiliating strip searches, attacks on their genitals, and attempted rape.

Ultimately, the experts have surmised that these acts are violations of international human rights and humanitarian law — to add to the already-enormous list of violations thus far.

Now before anyone gets all tangled up with the “failure to condemn” rhetoric, let me be very clear: I do not accept or condone sexual violence against any person, at any time, for any reason. And, I recognize that perpetrators are always responsible for their actions — whether they be Hamas or the Israeli Forces, or anyone else.

An Israeli activist group supporting survivors of sexual assault released a report outlining the sexual violence that occurred during or immediately after 7 October to Israeli civilians at the hands of Hamas insurgents. The story is the same — reports of forced rapes, humiliations, and other sadistic practices are made explicit.

Let me repeat: I do not accept or condone any of it. And — I believe survivors.

However, I also believe that the Israeli propaganda machine has been out in full swing these last five months. Yes, documented evidence is challenging to obtain in every context of conflict, but many have explored these allegations and claim that the evidence does not align. Instead, it is being used to justify and manufacture consent for the ongoing genocide.

I also believe in independent survivor-centered investigations for all cases of sexual violence. Israel is refusing to participate in independent investigations of these claims. And yet supporting women should also mean protecting them and seeking justice through these mechanisms. The failure to do so raises concerns.

I align completely with the recent Open Letter to the Israeli and US Governments on how they have weaponized the issue of rape. The letter argues that the issue of sexual violence has been wielded as a tool of war and a weapon of racism and colonialism by the Israeli government “to both legitimize — and divert attention from — their campaign of ethnic cleansing, to dehumanize Palestinians, and to vilify those who criticize their actions.”

The Open Letter goes on to say that Israel has been actively discrediting feminists of color, Arab feminists and Jewish anti-Zionist feminists in an attempt to “incite public fury and deflect attention from the genocide it is perpetrating.”

As a feminist, I do not accept this accusation.

I’ll say it a third time just in case: I can condemn sexual violence and also condemn genocide. I can condemn violence against women everywhere and also recognize the disproportionate impact on Palestinian women.

Sexual violence is — to me — the world’s worst crime. It is too often perpetrated with impunity. And it is rampant during warfare — as an acceptable tactic of war. I know this all too well — it used to be my job.

Palestinian women have endured decades of denial of bodily autonomy and integrity as well as sexual violence — for the duration of the occupation. Sexual violence against Palestinian women by Israeli security forces is most common at checkpoints or during house raids. This includes all forms of sexual violence as well as public strip searches. Palestinian women also experience sexual violence while visiting their relatives in Israeli jails, when attending court hearings of their relatives, and during interrogations — by both male and female interrogators.

Even before this latest round of violence, Palestinian women lacked access to sexual and reproductive health services due to Israeli restrictions on their freedoms and movements. And Gaza in particular has been under Israeli control — and blockade — for decades. The deliberate destruction of an already feeble healthcare system is a crime.

Periods don’t stop in a crisis. There are no pads or other safe alternatives. Instead, there are dangerous period-delaying pills or pieces of tent fibers as pads. Contraception is practically zero, meaning that unintended pregnancies, sexually transmitted infections, and urinary tract infections are all on the rise with no access to medical care.

And if that isn’t painful enough, there are many disgusting examples shared across social media showing Israeli soldiers dehumanizing Palestinians by rifling through, making fun of, and taking photos with Palestinian women’s underwear in their deserted and destroyed homes.

In short, Israeli violence continues to wreak havoc on the bodies and lives of Palestinian women in every imaginable form.

And that’s just the physical stuff. The sheer trauma and psychological toll will last for generations. It has already lasted 75 years.

As I’ve said before, Palestine is a litmus test of our feminist commitment to all women and girls. Everywhere. Without exception. So far it rings rather hollow.

Meanwhile, every day my feminism continues to be questioned precisely because I speak about Palestinian women. Ironic, when I question everyone else’s feminism for not doing so. The question of Palestine is the line in the sand for feminists and all so-called liberals in the West. What’s more, Western feminists are quick to condemn Hamas — or any violence perpetrated by Palestinians — without a word about the extreme violence perpetrated by Israel.

And even now, as more evidence of sexual violence against Palestinians emerges, Western feminists remain silent.

Your silence has been noted. And this is what I condemn.

Read the full article here.

Gaza Genocide: Voices from Rafah

by Rebecca O’Keeffe

The most dangerous stage of the genocide is about to happen. Extermination – the last step in Israel ethnically cleansing Palestinians from Gaza.

The Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) are preparing a ground invasion of Rafah. For context, Rafah is the southernmost point of Gaza, shares a border with Egypt, and was designated a “safe zone.” Rafah is only 64 sq km (25 sq miles) in size and, with 1.5 million displaced Palestinians trapped there, is now one of the most densely populated places on earth.

The US-backed IOF have already begun airstrikes, coming after Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s rejection of a ceasefire proposal from Hamas, saying he would expand the offensive into Rafah. Further escalation will make it the deadliest massacre yet because, in the words of Lynn Hastings, Humanitarian Coordinator for the Occupied Palestinian Territory, “there is no safe place in Gaza and there is nowhere left to go.”

We have watched the world’s most documented genocide unfold in front of our eyes while our so-called world leaders have enabled and funded Israel to continue its massacre of Palestinians. International media has dehumanised Palestinians and demonstrated blatant bias and hypocrisy. The vast majority of Western politicians have refused to speak out, intervene, and have not acted in a way that is representative of public opinion. Even after South Africa’s historic case at the International Court of Justice, which ruled Israel is plausibly committing genocide, one might question whether countries are applying enough diplomatic pressure and taking every action in their power to prevent genocide – action they are obliged to take under the Genocide Convention.

While attention has focused on Gaza, it is worth noting there has been an escalation in Israeli settler and army violence across the West Bank and in East Jerusalem. It is also worth noting that due to Israel’s 17-year blockade, Gaza was already a humanitarian crisis before the genocide. However, experts say the rate of death and destruction in Gaza is the deadliest of the 21st century. Specifically, over the last four months, Israel has massacred at least 28,340 Palestinians, injured nearly 68,000, detained 4,000, and forcibly displaced nearly 2 million people. Israel has damaged 355,000 homes, destroyed schools, bakeries, places of worship, and hospitals – there are no fully functioning hospitals in Gaza, according to the World Health Organization. There are acute shortages of shelter, electricity, clean water, food and medicine.

Israel is starving Gaza – a direct result of the occupation’s genocidal policies.

And, as evidence shows, in such circumstances, women and children are disproportionately affected. In Gaza, nearly 1 million women and girls have been displaced, women and children make up 70% of civilian fatalities, and two mothers are killed every hour.

In four months, more than 12,300 Palestinian children have been killed by Israel.

If this alone does not stop anyone in their tracks, then humanity has failed on such an incomprehensible scale.

Yet, at the same time Palestinians are not numbers. These figures do not capture their lives, hopes, dreams, and dignity. There are stories behind these numbers. And if the numbers have not compelled you to do something, let their words speak. In the words of Refaat Alareer, Palestinian poet and professor who was targeted and murdered by Israel, “If I must die, let it be a tale.” The story of Palestine – the struggle against occupation, the quest for justice and liberation, and the hope for a better future – should be told by Palestinians. Their stories will not die with them.

As a feminist and peace activist long involved in Palestinian solidarity, I received the following messages from two women in Gaza asking for help. These are two stories yet they represent the voices and stories of so many.

Duha Latif is a teacher from Gaza and, at only 29 years of age, has already lived through five wars – miraculously surviving each time, she says. She is married and has two children, Ameer, six and Kareem, one and a half.

There is a fierce war here, I hope that I can evacuate my kids and leave here safely.

I am interested in spreading the story to many people who can help us get out of here as soon as possible.

Time is equivalent to life in Gaza now. Every minute passes by a year for us here, and every night our hearts break over the fear of our children.

Ameer was in his first year of primary school for a month before the war destroyed his beautiful dreams. He always asks me eagerly, “Mom, when will I go back to my school?”

I want to save my children and their lives, no matter the cost, because I feel guilty for bringing them into this life in this patch of land that knows neither peace nor safety. I cannot bear the loss of my sons in this conflict and in this merciless war.

I cannot bear hearing the cries and panic of my children as the rockets fall, and the sound of ambulances terrifies my elder son, causing him fear and depression, and it crushes my heart when I cannot answer his questions: “Mom, will we die? When will the war end? When can I sleep peacefully?

In addition to the constant threat of death due to this war and the lack of safety, we are suffering greatly from the lack of electricity, clean water, and food. The health situation is very bad; there are no hospitals, no medications, not even the basic necessities of life.

She goes on to explain the difficulty in seeking humanitarian asylum and the large sum of money needed to leave Gaza through the Rafah border crossing, which connects Gaza and Egypt. Duha’s GoFundMe appeal is to cover these evacuation costs, as she says, we do not want luxury; we just seek salvation, we seek safety. The compassion of international communities is our only remaining hope. Please stand with me in this critical moment.

Ghada Saed Abu Samra is a 24-year old entrepreneur from Gaza who has been displaced multiple times in the last four months and is dealing with homelessness and lack of food and clean water. She was one semester away from completing her university studies before the university was destroyed in the bombings.

I’m facing an incredibly tough and the worst time as my family and I have had to relocate seven times since leaving our home in Gaza since the war started – we are currently displaced, homeless, and living in a tent in Rafah. Our house, my four-year-old candle business that was my source of living, and even my university have been all destroyed. Four years working on my business despite the blockade, wars, restrictions, and grappling with the constraints of being a woman in Gaza and I made it, you can see my work here but now we have lost everything.

On her candle business page, Ocean and Waves, she posted the following:

Crafting candles became my act of resistance against the darkness, symbolizing hope for me when we were denied our basic rights. They didn’t stop at just slowly suffocating us; their aim was to crush our dreams and snatch our lives away as well, amidst the struggle and ongoing war. To me those candles embodied resilience, pushing back against forces trying to extinguish our dreams in the face of oppression. We refuse to surrender.

Now feeling helpless, she continued to me, I’m trying to find hope and rebuild. I’ve started a GoFundMe campaign to evacuate from Gaza and rebuild our lives with my family. Your support by sharing my story and the link would make a world of difference.

Ghada is trying to evacuate and get to safety abroad. This is a last resort.

Duha then also updated me:

The situation is getting worse. They are preparing to arrive in the area where I live.

I asked if her family was safe.

Situation is very bad here in Rafah. They said they will attack within some days. I don’t know where we can go.

So until now we are safe but after today, I don’t know what will happen. A very bad feeling that cannot be described.

These women demonstrate how Palestinians have remained resolute and dignified, tirelessly showing us time and again what humanity really means despite Israel’s – and the world’s – attempts at their erasure.

This is everyone’s moral litmus test.

We need to show up and not lose hope. We must continue to act. To pressure. To mobilise.

So, what can we do?

Donate through their links: Duha and Ghada; keep following and amplifying Palestinian voices on the ground; apply political pressure whenever and wherever you can; participate in demonstrations and rallies; read credible news sources; have conversations with family and friends. There is a comprehensive Palestine action guide written with Dr. Lina AbiRafeh, detailing these actions and more.

It all counts and it is more urgent than ever.

After the strikes on February 11th, described by many Palestinians as among the worst and most terrifying nights, I reached out again. I do not know when, or if, I will get another update from either Duha or Ghada. Duha’s last words to me were:

We are still alive. Pray for us.

The world did not start on October 7th

By Anon, 25th October

The Wall in Bethlehem

It’s been 17 days of an emotional rollercoaster of despair, heartache, a sense of helplessness and anger. I have been paralyzed for 17 days, not able to function or focus on anything but the constant updates from Palestine.

17 days of watching a genocide underway executed by Israel, funded by the US and with a carte blanche from the EU.

17 days of seeing the most horrific, gut-wrenching, footage imaginable of charred babies, body parts being pulled from under the rubble, parents bidding farewell over what is left of the corpse of their children, children screaming for their lost parents, parents writing the name of their children on their bodies so they can be identified, hearing from parents that the whole family sleeps fully dressed in case they get that “considerate” 10 minute warning to evacuate before they obliterate their homes, and Gaza turning into a site straight out of an apocalyptic film. And there is plentiful footage getting streamed that you can see for yourself if you are following anything other than the heavily biased, one-sided, mainstream Western media.

Some numbers:

Death count as of yesterday: 5,087 (62% are children and women)

Number of injured: 15,273

Number of people no longer living in their homes: 1,400,000

Number of residential buildings attacked: 181,000+ (of which more than 20,000 turned into complete rubble)

Number of schools attacked: 177 (32 of which completely demolished)

The healthcare system is collapsing. Hospitals have run out of medical supplies, doctors are operating on the light from mobile phones, they are treating wounds with vinegar, they are drastically over capacity, premature babies in incubators and patients on life support machines their lives are completely dependent on how long before the fuel runs out (expected to last for another 2 days). Israel has cut off access to electricity and suspended water supply. Essential resources such as food and water are in short supply. Israel has not allowed any form of aid in (aside from the 20 trucks that went in, apparently with a big supply of body bags, that doesn’t represent 4% of their daily needs). People are seeking refuge in overcrowded hospitals, schools and churches. I can’t even begin to imagine the living conditions.

That kind of hopelessness and despair, coupled with a complete absence of any efforts by world leaders to change things, is what led to the emergence of a resistance movement. And think what we may, the right to resistance is a right by International Law that is not restricted for those who the West deems worthy of living.

And what was the situation in Gaza before October 7?

The total population is 2.2 million, it is one of the most densely populated area in the world.

70% are refugees expelled out of their homes in other parts of Palestine
47% are children
80% of youth are unemployed
82% live under the poverty line

Gaza is basically an open-air prison that has been besieged by Israel for over 16 years, and repeatedly attacked by Israeli military (in 2008/9, 2012, 2014, 2018/19 and 2021). Israel controls the airspace, the water and the land. They control who and what gets in and out. There is a, heavily guarded, turnstile gate people must walk through for those who get permission to leave, and most of the time, permission is not granted. Save the Children this year announced that between Jan and June of this year, 400 Palestinian children were denied permits to get urgent treatment outside of Gaza.

Beyond Gaza

It is not just Gaza. Palestinians have been dealing with 75 years of brutal occupation, oppression, ethnic cleansing and living under an apartheid system that Israel has imposed on Palestinian people. Palestinians live under the unjust military rule of Israel. They have no rights. Israel has been identified as an apartheid state implementing a system of apartheid that persecutes Palestinians by several human rights organization including Amnesty International as well as Israeli NGO B’Tselem. There is plenty of reading material online to what this apartheid system looks like for those interested.

And while Israel likes to accuse Hamas for the reason for the attacks, you just have to look at the West Bank where Hamas does not exist. The apartheid system impacts them as well restricting Palestinians right to movement (there is an over 700km apartheid wall Israel built on West Bank land breaking up families). Israel has confiscated over 500,000 acres of Palestinian land and allocated it for settlers and since 1967 Israel has illegally settled more than 441, 000 settlers in the West Bank. And while our attention is on Gaza, Israel has been arming Israeli settlers who have been assaulting Palestinians under the eyes and security of the Israeli army. 95 Palestinians have been killed by Israelis in the West Bank since October 7^th.

Peace, that we all seek, will only come when the root cause of resistance ends. End the occupation, end the oppression, end apartheid, give the Palestinians living in the diaspora the right to return to their homeland. Then we can move to the healing part and towards a more sustainable future for all. But, if the peace you want simply looks like Palestinians accepting the status quo, I’d take a hard look on what that says about your values and if you truly believe in human rights for all.

I am granddaughter of Palestinian refugees. I carry the pain of my people and the injustice of the world in allowing for an apartheid system to exist in 2023. My grandparents were forced out of them homes and like many from Yaffa, were pushed to the sea where they took boats to reach Beirut. My grandparents died at the ages of 90 and 97 a few years ago, never getting to go home. Except that is for my grandmother who, thanks to Alzheimer’s in the last few years, was lucky enough, in her mind, to have returned and we got to go with her on that journey of being in Yaffa.

Palestinians are attached to their land, are attached to their identity and are attached to their humanity. They are fighting for their freedom. There is a lot of generational trauma and pain. We will not be able to heal till we regain our basic human rights.

It is important to understand how we got here to figure out how we move forward.

I have included below some accounts you can follow should you choose to learn more about the reality of what is happening and some books and documentaries you can read/ watch to learn more about the history.

Accounts to follow (on Instagram):
Motaz Azaiza
Plestia Alaqad
Institute for Middle East Understanding (IMEU)
Eye on Palestine (Note: since the time of writing this account has been removed by Instagram. It is available on Telegram)
Craving Palestine
Mondoweiss
Yara Eid
Noura Erakat
Sim_bookstagrams_badly (Sim Kern)
Shaun King

Miko Peled
Breaking the Silence

Book recommendations:
The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine – Ilan Pappé (an Israeli author)
Men in the Sun – Ghassan Kanafani
A River Dies of Thirst – Mahmoud Darwish
Palestine’s Children – Ghassan Kanafani
The Hundred Year’ War on Palestine – Rashid Khalidi
The Question of Palestine – Edward Said
Salt Houses – Hala Alayan
I saw Ramallah – Mourid Bargouti

Documentaries:

Al Nakba
5 Broken Cameras
Farha
Open Bethlehem

*Editor’s Note: Since the time of writing the figures have increased to:

Gaza: 6,546 killed and 17,439 wounded

West Bank: 103 killed and 1,836 wounded

This is in no way intended to reduce these souls to numbers but to record the genocide that is occurring in real time.

We should author our own futures – A Story from Jordan

Over the years YallaFeminists has sought uplift the voices of women. To convene women from around the world in conversation, to create solidarity and to “pass the mic”. Recently a woman from Jordan, who will remain anonymous, reached out to us and asked us to share her story. Jordan has discriminatory personal status codes and discriminatory laws that limit women’s freedoms and deny them protections. Women need the permission of a male guardian to marry for the first time and to travel with their children. Additionally women in Jordan have very limited protections socially and by the courts when it comes to intimate partner and gender based violence.

This story comes from a woman who was encouraged to seek high levels of education by her family but still faced discrimination from them in regards to who she could seek as a partner. We are happy to share her story, and share in her grief. We believe that it is important to share women’s stories when they may not feel safe enough to do so themselves.

Woman from Jordan, age 43…

I was raised in a house where I was told a girl’s weapon is her degree. I had to study hard and have excellent grades so my parents would be proud of me. Speaking about marriage and relationships was forbidden at our house. Girls are not meant to get married, yet I was told “a girl is like a glass, once broken it can never be fixed again.”

I used to watch Ally McBeal when I was in high school and always dreamt of becoming a lawyer, having a job like her, and finding the love of my life!

In reality, I became a lawyer, but I did not work as a lawyer for many reasons. I fell in love but was denied my right to marry the person I chose.

Throughout my undergraduate years at university, I never talked to a male colleague outside of a studying, colleague, or friendship relationship. There were few who wanted to hang out with me. It seemed funny to them but my message to all of them was “let’s be friends, I have to finish my degree. My family will not accept me having a boyfriend, fiancée or a husband because I have to finish my degree.”

I was not able to share the stories of men who approached me with my mum or my sister. But I can’t deny that I fell in love with one handsome guy. I tried to secretly hang out with him, but after the first time we talked he told me “you are too innocent for me.” Despite all those years passed, I am still not sure if I liked the comment or not.

Being a lawyer was not anything like Ally McBeal. I started my new career and I met people from different countries.. again there was this amazing guy who started talking to me. Maybe because he was the only person who was persistent despite my resistance he was able to get me to have a relationship with him. What bothered me the most during this time was thinking remembering the glass metaphor and what my family would do if they knew that I was dating someone from a different culture. This relationship didn’t last after all.

One day a guy from my same culture and a “prestigious” family suddenly visited our house looking for a traditional and arranged marriage! My family approved as he came from a well-known family and was educated and they were proud. For me, this was a big NO. I resisted and told the guy I refused to marry him. Luckily he disappeared.

However, my sister snuck into my phone and learned about my previous relationship. She was angry and mad at me. I told her it was none of her business. She said “you know the rules well, this is not acceptable” and I repeated for her to back off. This was another reminder for me that love and marriage were a No for me.

Years after, I met another guy who was nice and funny but my brothers did not approve. At this stage, I was getting older and more aware about my rights. But my brothers made the decision to threaten the guy and he disappeared.

Ironically, an opportunity to have a masters in Human Rights in England came to my doorstep. Studying in England was a dream of my dads – and something no one from the family dared to object to. The subject of my masters was an itch for my youngest brother who did not like it and kept making comments I chose to ignore.

I came back with my Masters’ degree and decided fate was telling me to continue with my career path. Marriage is not what life is about. Why bother unless there is someone amazing. I was getting older and in the Arab world women after the age of 30 have less chances to get married. The game was over for me! Then, out of the blue, I met this amazing, young, handsome, caring, funny and open minded guy!! A few months later, COVID hit and there was no way to introduce him to the family. I talked to an old friend who knows my family very well, he told me “your family will not approve, he does not fit the criteria!”. He is 8 years younger than me and does not have a university degree. I thought once they meet him they will change their holy criteria. I told my friend; “Come on, I am in my forties, it is my decision.”

I thought – I was a very supportive sister all those years, so the least they can do is support me with this. They would like to see me happy and at the end of the day, it is MY Life and I have the full right to decide for myself. Unfortunately, it was not the case and my friend was right. No one supported me, my mother and my sister manipulated me and thought only of their own interests. My brothers worried about my inheritance and what portion they were going to take. For them, they were not convinced that someone would marry an “old woman in her forties” and that he must be interested in my money.

One of my brothers was willing to meet him. I thought I could trust him and he might support us but it was not the case. It was an insulting and inhuman conversation. My brother told him he was “from a different class than mine and that he couldn’t keep up with my financial requests.” Though since my father’s death I had never asked for anything from them. I was responsible for my own expenses.

After this, many things happened and I was afraid they would hurt him. Particularly my brother who told him “you know we come from a big tribe and your father and family don’t want to mess with us.” I told my family that I would take the case to the court, and if they did not allow me I would leave the family house. They went crazy and my brother said he would kill me and that I was not allowed to leave the house. Finally, my mum took action because she was scared I would go and raise the issue on social media and with the police. She convinced my brother to let me go to my work and she would talk to me about disregarding the issue. I was scared he would get hurt so I asked him to step back for a bit until my issue with my family was solved. I did not also want to give up my inheritance rights, so thought let me be smart and tell them the issue was resolved and I would get my finances in order and then raise the issue again.

However, they were smarter and things did not go the way I thought they would go. His father insisted that he get married. Within two weeks the deal was done. Both left heartbroken but we could not say or do anything to our families. He told me that his father was rushing things up and he told him “I wanted to save you and us from this big tribal issue but you must cut any connection with me.” I am sure my brothers spoke to the father.

So there I was in my forties, fully aware of my religious and legal rights and I was not able to live a life I chose. Of course my family learnt about his marriage and they told me if he really loved you he would not have married. He wanted your money and wanted to misuse your social status. It has been more than a year, I still cannot be the same person as before.

I am worried If I tell the story to anyone they might think the same way as my family about him and think I am overreacting. I am not sure if anyone can feel how disappointed and victimized I feel. I also feel for him, even though someone might say – but he is a man. He is a man – but I know my family, and know that what they threatened the other guy with 15 years ago, they would have done the same to him.

How long are we supposed to accept that our future is decided by the family and the society? How can we change this? I am worried about my nieces and what the future holds for them. I hope they can live with freedoms that I was not able to have.

Gender based violence is not only about physical abuse. Mental abuse is way worse, the laws which restrict our freedoms are violating our rights.

Please let’s talk about those as well.

Advancing women’s rights… or reinforcing the status quo?

Every year in New York at this time of year, thousands of women take over New York in the annual meeting of the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), to address gender equality and women’s empowerment. CSW takes place in March, to coincide with Women’s History Month, International Women’s Day, and the 31 days we’re allotted to address “all things women.”

The Commission itself was founded in 1946, shortly after the creation of the UN itself. The purpose was to raise awareness and develop policy around international women’s issues and to monitor women’s standing around the world. The Commission was engaged in the drafting of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), the Beijing Platform for Action, and Security Council Resolution 1325 on Women, Peace and Security — three historic and essential global agreements for women’s rights. Basically the backbone of global women’s rights work.

In 1987, the Commission started meeting annually. Ten years later, in 1997, the Commission adopted the policy of coming to negotiated conclusions through debates, panels and round tables. The annual conclusions form international commitments made by member countries. All this sounds great — and is important.

However, negotiation spaces are limited to government delegations and accredited organizations, leaving the voices of many activists and civil society organizations on the outside. Feminist organizations are forced to organize ‘parallel events’ on the periphery of the official meeting, outside the halls of power. There are political implications to who is present — and absent — from these spaces.

As someone who has worked on women’s rights for over twenty-five years, I have only attended one CSW. Yes, just one.

It was a few years ago, but I still recall the experience. I was wearing a suit, with a t-shirt underneath that said “feminist” — in Arabic. The security guard stopped me before I could enter.

“What does that shirt say?!” he demanded.

“Feminist!” I said.

Choking on a Pink Cupcake: Why I Hate International Women’s Day

I hate International Women’s Day.

And with every passing year, I hate it even more.

I hate the one-day-every-year that we are supposed to remind ourselves of how far we’ve come — and how far we’ve got to go for equality. Did we need reminding?

Quick history: In 1911, women — and men — took to the streets to demand rights for women to work, to vote, and to hold public office. And so this day was born.

Quick reality: It’s 2023, and we’re not equal anywhere. Not in a single country.

And every year, on March 8, we’re told “Happy International Women’s Day.”

As your resident feminist killjoy, I refuse to be happy about this day. When we’re equal, I’ll be happy about that.

I’ve written a bazillion pieces talking about how things are for women around the world. And nowhere in the world are we fully able to participate in all aspects of social, economic, and political life. How do I know this?!

Here are a few of the bazillion reasons:

The gender gap is real — and it is real big. It will take 132 years for us to close the gender gap, to achieve equality. We are getting worse — in 2020, we needed 100 years to close the gender gap. We’ve lost a whole generation.

Education is closer to equality, but the majority of children who are out of school are girls — that’s 130 million girls worldwide. The majority of people who are illiterate are women — nearly half a billion women and girls cannot read or write. And school isn’t even safe. Roughly 60 million girls are sexually assaulted on their way to or at school every year.

The political gap is widest. Women are dramatically under-represented in positions of power and decision-making. More than 80 countries have never had a woman head of state. Today, only 31 countries are led by women — out of 195 countries in the world.

The economy also discriminates against women, who do the majority of unpaid care work — 76% of it. When women are paid, they still earn less. 77 cents to every man’s dollar. And far less for women of color. Only 6% of companies globally have a female CEO — and she’s still referred to as “the female CEO.”

One in three women and girls will experience some form of violence in our lifetime. I think it’s actually more. And 81% of women have experienced sexual harassment in their lifetime — verbal or physical.

So, there’s a lot of work to do. And we all should be doing it — every day.

See more here!

Setting Yourself on Fire to Keep Others Warm: Why I Fight for Women’s Safety

I heard the screams before I saw her face. Deep, ancient howls. The agony of all women since the beginning of time. My stomach turned, knotted. I did not want to see, but I had no choice. I did not want to know, but somewhere deep, I knew.

I gently pushed aside the partition of plastic bags strung together, held up by twine, tied together at the corners, dust-coated and frayed, quivering at the slightest breeze, ready to disintegrate. Even as the bags shook, the air was dead-still that day.

I handled the grocery-bag barricade carefully, delicately. Like someone’s laundry on a line. But they were not clothes. I did not want to be the one to destroy what had been deliberately constructed — a shield to allow the woman whose voice I heard a sense of dignity, of privacy. To allow her to feel safe.

This plastic was the only protection she had from the outside. The protection I now compromised.

“We need to see where that sound is coming from,” the journalist said.

“We need to know what is going on,” her photographer said.

“You said you’d line this up for us, Lina,” she added.

Yes, this was my job. I worked in humanitarian emergencies — wars, natural disasters, the world’s worst stuff. In those tragedies, I worked with women. And not just any women — women who were survivors of rape. Or at risk of rape. Which in fact is all women.

And yes, part of my job was to work with journalists, reporting what we do, and how we do it.

“You said you’d line this up…” she repeated, as if I needed to be reminded that the journalist was there, in Haiti, to report on rape after the earthquake.

I wondered what, exactly, I was supposed to “line up”? Women who were raped — for them to be revictimized by the international media? This was a part of my job, yes. But it was a part that I despised.

Her howls continued, growing louder. Guttural. Plastic bags now aside, I finally saw her. The girl. The girl behind the howls. She was lying in the dirt, writhing, face contorted, sweat-soaked in her once-white cotton gown, a scrap of fabric that was now brown and tattered on the edges.

The dirt had turned to mud where she lay. A small patch of mud, created by her sweat. Created by her pain.

Check out the full blog here!