Those Poor Women

TW: Mention of rape, violence, etc. 

Dear Women,

When I was a little girl in a big city in India, I always watched American television shows and was enamored by the freedoms the women enjoyed in them. The girls in these shows wore tank tops and little skirts, dated freely, and pursued careers relentlessly. When I wore tank tops and little skirts, everyone had something to say; dating was a no-no.

The stark contrast between women represented in shows like Gilmore Girls and Sex and the City and the family television soaps with conservative Indian values made me long for that kind of freedom. I dreamed of living in Western countries where I could wear tank tops and little skirts, date freely, and no one would say anything.

As I grew up in India, I noticed how women’s freedoms were under attack—from internationally covered gang rapes to bride burnings, from being told how to behave as a little girl to being instructed how not to interact with men. I was indoctrinated into the idea that many Indians are still backward. Even in an uber-liberal city like Mumbai, I could not escape the Indian mentality against women. But I believed I could escape it.

I believed the movies and shows when they told me that America was a haven for women. These ideals were emboldened by authors I admired, like Joan Didion and Gloria Steinem. The advent of first- and second-wave feminism in the United States influenced women globally. I wanted to be free, like an American woman. But little did the little girl in me know, it was all smoke and mirrors.

When American women think of Indian women, they feel sorry for us. They think of the gang rapes, the child marriages, the shackles that bind us.

When Indian women think of Afghan women, we feel sorry for them. We think of how their faces are outlawed, how they can no longer get an education. We look at our degrees and feel blessed.

When Afghan women think of Congolese women, they feel sorry for them. The pain of rampant sexual terrorism is not lost on Afghan women.

The truth is, we are always feeling sorry for other women in the world, those who have it worse. We look at our own realities and comforts, but we fail to realize that all those women are us. We could be those “poor, unfortunate women.”

A woman in 1970s Iran could never have anticipated the extent to which the Islamic Revolution would repeal women’s rights. A medical student in 1980s Kabul would not have known that her daughter might not have the same privileges. The othering of women’s suffering has failed women globally. We sympathize with those poor women without realizing how this narrative keeps us from acknowledging our own oppressions. We are those poor women, and those poor women are us. We are all products of centuries of systemic patriarchy that has seeped so deep into us, it’s difficult to fully understand the extent to which it envelopes our lives. Even now, women in one of the most powerful countries, a hub for culture and innovation, are not guaranteed the rights to their own bodies. If our individual liberties are solely dependent on the people in power, none of us are free. We never will be.

Patriarchy, like many other oppressive systems, exists on a spectrum. And this spectrum is what keeps us from truly understanding it as a collective global experience. If we happen to be on the lighter side of the spectrum, we might fool ourselves into believing that we are somehow better off. But are we?

There is some truth here—American women have it better than Indian women in many respects. Indian women regularly deal with sexual terrorism, domestic violence at higher rates, and female infanticide. The conservative social culture of India, along with its rampant sexual repression and moral policing, makes it a hostile country for many women. This is especially true for women in rural areas.

India, with its history of sexual repression (a legacy of British colonialism), domestic violence, child marriage, and sex trafficking, has relegated women to a lower status in many regions. The overall individual liberties I experience in America are better.

But...

Indian women also have it better than American women in some respects. While the socio-cultural environment for women is not favorable in India, it is not that much better in the U.S.

Society aside, India has stringent laws for rape convictions. It is one of the few countries that has imposed life sentences and the death penalty for aggravated rapes. Women's right to abortion in India is fundamentally unquestioned. Safe and legal abortions up to 24 weeks have been guaranteed by a 1974 act, and in 2021, the law was expanded to include unmarried women as well. Access to contraception in India is cheap and widely available, with government hospitals offering free birth control to women in impoverished conditions. Furthermore, Indian society looks at child-rearing as a collective responsibility, which eases the burden of motherhood for many women.

The same cannot be said for women’s rights to their bodies in the U.S. Contraception is often a matter of money and access, and women’s right to terminate pregnancy is continually challenged. There are many more single mothers in America who are solely responsible for child-rearing and have fewer resources to ease that burden.

Having lived in the U.S. for almost seven years now, I can tell you that sexual harassment in a liberal city like Boston is not much different from sexual harassment in a liberal city like Mumbai. The innumerable women I know who have dealt with sexual violence in both countries proves one thing: we are not safe anywhere.

As women, we collectively share the burdens of oppression at various ends of the spectrum. If history has taught us anything, it’s that the spectrum is not stable. The more integrated I become into Western society, the more I realize the extent to which oppression plays out in our lives. Yes, for many Western women—including myself, since I come from a large urban city—oppression is not as direct as it may be for others.

When it comes to violence against women across societies, there is a dichotomy between covert and overt violence.

In the Democratic Republic of Congo, women and girls are raped by militia groups like the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda, on a regular basis in an act of pure sexual oppression and terrorism. A 2011 report from the United Nations estimated that up to 400,000 women and girls were subjected to sexual violence in DRC during the Second Congo War. Female genital mutilation is still practiced in many countries, particularly in the MENA region, Sub-Saharan Africa, and Asia. The United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) reports that 200 million girls and women alive today have undergone FGM in countries where the practice is most common. These actions are globally condemned, with aid and service groups working to improve conditions. The bans on the freedoms of women in Afghanistan and Iran are also widely condemned. In my own country, violence against women is a major issue that prevents women from other countries from traveling safely. The types of violence these women endure—rape, domestic abuse, murder, and trafficking—are undeniable. These women are the faces of global women’s rights issues.

This kind of barbaric violence is unequivocally evil. It’s difficult to argue against or take a stance against why these women’s individual liberties are essential. As terrifying as it is, overt violence is globally condemned, making the plight of these women something to be uplifted. Women who endure this violence know that they are continually and violently oppressed. Everyone knows they are oppressed. They are refugees, exiles, products of pity.

Overt gender-based violence is often synonymous with gender-based violence because of its horrific nature and media attention. But for Western women, this kind of large-scale systemic oppression is an unfathomable existence, removed from their own realities. In their progressive countries, such things could never happen (remember, Iran was such a country once). They do not live in regimes that bet on their bodies every day, at least not openly. What they fail to realize is that many of these women did not live in regimes that bet on their bodies every day. A shift in power, a collapsing economy, or a war can bring about these circumstances.

This is not to say that women in Western countries are not better off. In Western developed countries, women do enjoy individual freedoms and agency—much more than women in countries where overt violence is more common. Overt violence is not as widespread or as socially accepted in the West. However, when overt violence is incompatible with social norms, it’s often replaced by covert violence.

Women who are blissfully detached from overt forms of violence still cannot escape covert forms of violence. These insidious forms of everyday violence are harder to understand, and as a result, harder to condemn.

Covert violence targets women’s emotional and psychological well-being, rather than their physical, social, and psychological well-being. This can be seen in cultural examples, from Simone de Beauvoir’s The Woman Destroyed to the more recent monologue in the Barbie movie. Covert violence against women uses subtle methods to keep women subservient. Western culture promotes individual freedoms, but it doesn’t also promote collective consciousness—a concept women have been unable to escape.

For example, in collectivist societies, the concept of family is a shared burden. But in Western societies, it becomes an individual burden. Western women work more, pay more, and sacrifice more to enjoy their perceived freedoms.

I grew up in a house with traditional roles. My mother stayed at home, took care of us, managed the home, and cooked. My father had a job and brought in the money. My parents always referred to this dynamic as an equal division of labor. For many women who want to reject traditional gender roles for financial freedom and independence, the labor is less divisive. Instead, working women often take on what can only be called “addition of labor”—they must expend, extend, and extract themselves to work. In order to feel free, they must add to their existing burdens.

I look at working women today with mixed emotions. Women have fought hard to occupy spaces once hoarded by men. In this, I see how the Western woman has been transformed into an all-purpose human. In 1972, Gloria Steinem’s Ms.magazine embodied this transformation. Yes, changes have occurred. More men are showing up for us, but we are far from achieving what we consider freedom. A 2019 study published in the "Journal of Social Issues" found that women in the U.S. often face higher expectations of work-life balance, contributing to mental health struggles, particularly for working mothers.

The highlight of covert violence is the ever-present emotional burden of equality that weighs on the shoulders of women who seek freedoms. Women in Western countries are constantly responsible for ensuring their own freedoms, often at the cost of their desires and well-being. It’s as if we’re holding onto a tight leash, afraid that if we let go, we’ll end up as those “poor, unfortunate women.” Perhaps, subconsciously, we know how fragile our freedoms are. How easily they can be taken away. That’s why we exert control over our agency.

In progressive societies, women work hard to “prove” they are worthy of their liberties, but somehow, they’re always missing something. Women who choose to prioritize careers and financial freedom are condemned for not having children or pursuing companionship. Women who pursue family are seen as financial leeches. Women who raise children alone are stigmatized. Women with absentee fathers are mocked. Men do not face the same scrutiny for managing everything all the time. Women are blamed, shamed, and scrutinized for every action, every decision. Women are blamed, shamed, and scrutinized even for circumstances beyond their control. This constrained existence is disguised as individual responsibility.

Western women face pressure to single-handedly manage their professional and personal lives, to be perfect, and to never make mistakes in order to uphold everything they’ve achieved. This is not freedom. Patriarchy is a shapeshifting chameleon that adapts to control in whatever way it can. In progressive societies, it has concealed itself expertly, making us believe we’re moving ahead. It’s true; we are. But so is patriarchy. A 2018 study by Pew Research Center found that working mothers in the U.S. spend about 14 hours per week on housework and 13 hours per week on childcare, while fathers spend less time on these activities.

It is difficult to understand and condemn covert violence because there’s a level of choice and agency involved. Moreover, covert violence doesn’t elicit the same outrage as overt violence.

We are all products of patriarchy, which manifests in various ways. I yearn for the same ideals I did as a little girl when I enjoyed different freedoms. I might be able to wear tank tops now, but despite my achievements, personal growth, and character, I do not feel enough because I do not yet have it all. To the women reading my piece: we have a long way to go, but we must stop othering the oppression of other women. We must embody their violence as our own. Patriarchy is a global demon, and it will take a collective global effort to eradicate it. All of us are poor, unfortunate women—but together, we do not have to be.