Feminist Rant

There are times I wish I had a t-shirt that read:

Dear Moroccan Men,
Please stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.
Salaam,
Sara

Although to be honest, having something printed on my chest for them to read probably would not alleviate the problem.

I thought I would wait until after an inevitable more extreme experience to write something about being a woman in Morocco, but I’ve found so far that the little daily ordeals are what I find most difficult. Everyday in Morocco, I get blatant leers from men on the street. Coming from someone whose friends often need to point out to her that a guy is taking notice in social situations, I feel like this says a lot. I am so sick of it, being constantly objectified.

According to Mohamed Chtatou (a wonderful man and feminist too), sitting in sidewalk cafes and admiring women as they go by is Morocco’s biggest national pastime/sport. I was complaining to our family friend Imane, and she laughed knowingly, saying, “Of course they look at you, that’s what you’re there for! In their minds, you were put on this earth for them to admire, like a cake in a bakery window.” Fundamentally, there is nothing harmful in what most men here do. They are not hurting any women or violating them. Technically. But as a woman, it definitely hurts your pride to be incessantly objectified.

In addition to the looks I get (and I dress pretty modestly here), I also frequently get “bonjour!” “salut!” (both mean hello or hi) and “ca va?” (how are you?) from random men as I walk places, either by myself or with Hannah, the other AMIDEAST intern. If I’m with Michael, the third intern, this does not happen as much. In fact, when we were in Fez, Hannah and I were walking back to our hotel from across the street where we had run to get some bottled water, and a man holding the hand of his little boy said “Ca va?” and gave us each the once over as we walked past him. For shame.

Sometimes they get creative, and I am able to laugh to myself, which helps me from getting too worked up about these things. The first time I was legitimately catcalled here, some guys in Rabat’s medina yelled to Hannah and me, “Girls…I like your small asses!” I had to bite back a smile…my ass may be many other adjectives, but it is definitely not small. That boy would really benefit from learning some more descriptive vocabulary words.

But other times it’s annoying on the verge of a little threatening, like when guys hiss at you. Or like when this guy followed Hannah and me through the Mellah section in Fez, trying to get us to go with him as a guide or something. Ignoring him did no good, as he waited outside the synagogue for us and then followed us down the main road at a distance before we caught a taxi back to our hotel.

I know it’s not dangerous, just annoying. But the more I think about it, the more it upsets me because of the larger implications it has on the status of women in this country. I wound up sitting next to a nice Moroccan student on the train back from Fez named Hind, who was very chatty. She did most of the talking French, and I’m not really sure how she wound up on the subject, but she was wearing the hijab (headscarf), and told me that she did it for herself (Chtatou’s reaction was “they all say that”), but how when she goes out in public, she dresses differently than she would at home. She was wearing long sleeves and a long skirt in unbearable heat, and she said that at home she would wear short sleeves, but if she goes out in public and wears clothes with more coverage she won’t get unwanted attention from men. For her it seemed like an obvious solution, and I think luckily for the sake of keeping things amiable between us, my French skills wouldn’t accommodate what I wanted to say: that she should be able to go out wearing whatever she wants to without worrying how men will think of her much less treat her. It’s an issue of respect.

I’ve noticed that men I don’t know, but whom I interact with here in a customer sense don’t treat me that way. For instance, taxi drivers or men running little roadside stands called hanoots (I don’t know if I spelled/transliterated that correctly) never give me the once over or try to talk to me in a way that implies anything beyond genuine friendly conversation. Why? Because as a customer, they have to treat me with respect. It’s interesting how even just a small relationship with a woman changes the way she might be treated. Similarly, Hannah and I have talked about how it seems like a lot of the young men here don’t really get that much socialization with women. Which makes sense, since at a certain age and in certain circles women and men are either segregated or young women are held in contempt if they go out without a chaperone. But maybe that’s adding to the problem. By denying men the ability to develop platonic friendships with women, society denies them the ability to develop a healthy appreciation for them too.

I know I might be overreacting. But I continually think about these things as I go about my daily life in Morocco. So I would appreciate your thoughts, feel free to comment. In fact, a lot of you have been telling me that you’re reading my blog, and thank you…I would appreciate your comments so I don’t feel like I’m talking to nobody!