Rehana is a housewife. She gets up at the break of dawn, prepares breakfast, sets the table, presses the clothes, does the dishes and waves her family goodbye as she watches them head out from the front door. Rehana does not go out much. Rehana only goes out if there is a mehram with her. Rehana does not want to be bound like this, but she must. Her husband says it is not safe to go out. That she will not drive. Rehana obliges. Rehana is a good wife.
Rehana is a daughter. She fetches water for her baba when he comes home. She does her homework on her own. She helps her maa with chores. She goes to school and comes back. She is not allowed to go out with friends. Rehana is thirteen. Rehana takes a burqa to the market. Rehana feels hot in the burqa. But Rehana must wear it because baba says the men are bad. Rehana is a good daughter.
But who is Rehana? Rehana’s me. Rehana’s you. Rehana is a woman. She is the cornerstone of a home, the honor of a community, the survival of a race. She grows up learning to nurse those around her. She marries and lays her vulnerabilities on a platter to a man who she met a month ago. She grits her teeth through the pain of childbirth because it cannot outlast the joy of motherhood. She makes a family and works day and night, tirelessly, to nurture it. Even if they suppress her, Rehana upholds social norms. Rehana is a good woman.
Or is she?
Am I a good woman? Are you a good woman? Is your sister, mother, wife or friend a good woman? Before any of us prepare to answer this, reconsider the question: Is that person a good human? What happens if Rehana stops being just a woman and becomes a human?
So Rehana is a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister. But most of all, she is a person. She wonders about open skies and warm breezes. She craves to walk down sea view with her feet sinking in the wet sand as the smell of sea and salt overtake her senses. She wants to read strange books under cool shades on a windy afternoon. She wants to drive down an endless street with her favorite ballad blasting from the speakers. She wants to light a cigarette on a chilly December night and hang out with her friends. She wants to lie down in a field and count stars. Rehana is a human, and that is exactly what makes her a bad woman.
This is how easily women like Rehana are labelled as ”bad”. They are shunned because of their occupation of public space. I reiterate: Public space. A locality that should be accessible and accommodating to all – regardless of their gender. But what happens when a woman claims a public space in this country? They are cast wary glances each time they are shopping alone. The incessant, lustful and unabashed stares follow them every time, everywhere. Whether it’s the park down the road, the market, the pavement outside their own house, anywhere. They could wear a burqa or a bikini, it doesn’t matter. The people will stare.
Legally, excluding the restrictions that extend to all people, women are not prohibited from accessing these public spaces. When does the law enforcement step in to help the everyday woman being harassed on the street?
Religiously, if they undertake certain guidelines obligatory upon them, Muslim women are not prohibited from accessing these public spaces. If you follow the religion, you will follow its commandments. If you don’t follow it, you won’t. So why does everyone else get to have a say whether a woman can or cannot go out, based on her religion? Whether she follows it or not is her choice. Were we not a free country?
If these two significant parts of an individual’s life allow them this liberty, what is the cause of women’s restricted mobility in Pakistan? Lo and behold, the society. The same society whose men saunter in red light areas like they own the place. The same society that sacrifices their daughters at the altar because “Ab tou sasural hi tumara ghar hai (Your in-laws are your home now)”. The same society that wants deliveries with female doctors and yet don’t want to send their daughters to school. The same society that hails “purity” and yet has prevalent prostitution. The double standards of this incorrigible country have seeped through the cracks of its own vessel, drowning all of us aboard a foot a minute.
So what do those wanting to remedy the situation do? What choice do you have sitting inside reading about the atrocities occurring within and outside your home? So many of us have borne oppression for so many years, we have become inured to it. But do you remember Dante and his prediction? The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain neutrality in times of moral crisis. Do not let this slide past you. Get up, get out, and loiter. Spill out on the streets like the trash that you’re going to be called anyway. Visit that park so many times they stop looking. Go exploring the market and you’ll find the shopkeepers who are willing to help. Stand at the bus station every morning with a blinding smile until they finally back off. No, don’t risk your safety. Risk your conformity because it’s about time you do.
With all those arguments presented, there will still be the majority unwilling to listen. Your morals, your values, even your sanity will be questioned. Stop presenting explanations for actions that are your right and not your privilege.
So ladies, gentlemen, and neither – why loiter?
Because you can.
