The glass ceiling: gender stereotypes in the workplace

By Irelyd Soto Domínguez

Featured image by Daria Nepriakhina

Invisible barriers

When a woman starts her professional career, she knows that she faces not only the challenges that come with her chosen profession, but the stereotypes that follow her when she joins her profession as a woman.

What comes to women’s mind when we hear the expression ‘gender stereotypes’? “rejection” it’s probably the first word to appear on the long list, and it’s a direct result of the way society categorizes women. The social construct of women’s roles has been focusing on our biological roles of mothers and spouses and imply inferiority when it comes to participating in public and professional life.

This article tries to contextualize the ways in which women are discriminated in the workplace and the way that gender stereotypes are based on the assumption that men are more than women in management positions,  (cited in Flanagan, 2015).

Gender stereotypes in the workplace represent an invisible barrier that gets in the way of women in relation to men. It puts men on the top in high level positions, and relegates women to medium or low-level positions. When combined with a gender gap in terms of salary, all this together is known as ‘the glass ceiling’.

Defining threats: how gender stereotypes affect the perception of women in the workplace

A stereotype is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as a “widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing” (cited in Bordalo, Coffman, Gennaioli and Shleifer, 2016).

When gender stereotypes are based on biological features (Aragón Álvarez, 2011) turn out determinist^[1], they have pejorative connotations for women. In this sense, Donna Bobbit-Zeher (2011) states that gender discrimination is the product of a combination of cultural ideas about gender, structural policies that affect women and men differently, and decisions to apply or enforce those policies on workers by gender.

Within the context of a patriarchal society, we often tend to normalize discrimination as part of the systematic violence that women face every day in public and private spaces.  Discrimination re-enforces ideas that limit women and prevent them developing their potential, putting a ‘glass ceiling’ between men and women. The term ’glass ceiling’ was conceived during the 1980s by Ann Morrison. This term implies that there’s a limit, preventing career growth, which is ‘glass’ and so transparent and ‘unseen’ (Shabbir, Ashar Shakeel and Ahsan Zubair, 2016).

In terms of their professional careers, women are programmed to work harder than men and assume more roles including ‘traditional roles’ This puts them at a disadvantage  and implies that our male counterparts are  more ambitious, more competent and skilled, (cited in Shabbir, Ashar Shakeel and Ahsan Zubair, 2016).

^[1]The theory of biological determinism relates to gender theory. It argues that there are features which can be attributed to men and women biologically. It also creates a social construction around this to determine behaviors and gender roles that men and women have in society, and the social construction deems other perceptions of gender roles unacceptable. This is one of the main factors that contributes to maintaining the gender gap, (Ortega, Torres and Salguero, 2001).

Reasons behind the lack of women at top level positions in the workplace

According to a 2017 BBC News report ‘A glass ceiling – or a broken ladder?’, women hold one in four senior leadership roles worldwide. In Mexico, through data provided by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), we found that only 10% of administrative council’s positions are occupied by women. The wage gap is also a relevant obstacle, with women’s salaries are 16.7% less than men (Forbes, 2017).

Beyond the reticence of enterprises to hire women for top level positions, we find the social construction of gender roles assumes women are responsible for domestic roles, a responsibility that in many cases they are forced to accept. In Mexico, domestic roles assumed by women involve about four hours more work than men per day, based on OECD information (Forbes, 2017).

The gender pay gap: the most important barrier to tear down in order to achieve ‘equal pay for equal work’.

In terms of salary, there’s a persistent gender pay gap between men and women carrying out the same kind of work, this is due to the lack of gender equality in the workplace (cited in Bobbitt-Zeher, 2011).

Based on historical data from the USA during the 1950s, the pay gap hovered around 60 cents per dollar and it was caused by several factors. These factors included lower education rates of women (not attending college for example), women not being in the workforce in big numbers, and because it was perfectly legal to pay women less therefore, discrimination was legal (VOX, 2018).

According to Pew Research Center analysis “the gender gap in pay has narrowed since 1980, but it has remained relatively stable over the past 15 years or so. In 2017, women earned 82% of what men earned.” (Forbes, 2018). Instead of progressive achievements in terms of closing the wage gap, this gap persists as well as occupational segregation by gender (Gibelman, 2003). We need to take measures to address the change that we want to see in the future.

Making changes and taking on leadership

How much are we as women responsible for perpetuating these behaviors? We need to make things different to achieve different results. We need to move forward and close the gender gap. We need to empower ourselves and make difficult decisions that will remove stereotypes and change the way we are perceived in society.

We must stop being afraid of assume high levels of responsibility, like top level positions as CEOs or any kind of management positions we aspire to. At the end of the day, if we as women assume our responsibilities and assume the leadership in our professional careers in the workplace, we’ll be able to tear down the gender stereotypes and determinist ideologies. Furthermore, we can redesign the way we’re perceived in a society that needs substantive changes to achieve gender equality and parity between men and women.

References:

Aragón Álvarez, A. 2011. Men are warriors and women peacemakers? The gender stereotyping in the international security field. Prisma Social. Available at:  https://dialnet.unirioja.es/servlet/articulo?codigo=3806212[Accessed 18 December 2019].

BBC News. 2017. A glass ceiling – or a broken ladder? BBC News. Available at  https://www.youtube.com/: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yk1K1dHgXi4[Accessed 18 November 2019].

Bordalo, P., Coffman, K., Gennaioli, N., & Shleifer, A. 2016. Stereotypes. The Quarterly Journal of Economics131, no. 4, 1753-1794

Bobbitt-Zeher, D. 2011. Gender discrimination at work: Connecting Gender Stereotypes, Institutional Policies, and Gender Composition of Workplace. Gender and Society, 25(6) December, 764-786.

Flanagan, J. 2015. Gender and the Workplace: The Impact of Stereotype Threat on Self-Assessment of Management Skills of Female Business Students. Advancing Women in Leadership, Vol. 35. September, 166-171.

Mackenzie, D. 2017. Mujeres mexicanas ocupan menos puestos directivos que hombres: OCDE /Mexican women hold fewer managerial positions than men: OECD. Forbes.  Available at: https://www.forbes.com.mx/: https://www.forbes.com.mx/las-mujeres-mexicanas-ocupan-menos-puestos-directivos-que-los-hombres-ocde/[Accessed 17 November 2019].

Allen, T. 2018. Six Hard Trust for Women Regarding the Glass Ceiling. Forbes. Available at https://www.forbes.com/sites/terinaallen/2018/08/25/six-6-hard-truths-for-women-regarding-that-glass-ceiling/#2f72fc66427f. [Accessed 15th November 2019].

Gibelman, M. 2003. So, how far have we come? Pestilent and persistent Gender Gap in Pay. Social Work, 48(1) January, 22-32.

Shabbir, H., Ashar Shakeel, M., & Ahsan Zubair, R. 2016. Gender Stereotype, Glass Ceiling, and Women’s career advancement: an empirical study in service sector of Pakistan . City University Research Journal, 236-246.

VOX (Producer). (2018). Explained: Why women are paid less?[TV Series]. Season 1 episode 3. Netflix.

Honour based abuse: the UK’s ‘forgotten’ victims

By:  Bethany Morris, correspondent for the Immigration Advice Service

Featured image: Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash

Photo by kevin laminto on Unsplash

Since the Coronavirus crisis pushed the UK into uncharted waters in late January, 2020 has shaped up to be a year of unprecedented challenge, fear, and uncertainty. As the virus dominated the headlines and the country was told to “stay home and save lives”, a sinister “shadow pandemic” continued to wreak havoc behind closed doors. With the country on lockdown, Coronavirus was exploited by opportunistic abusers who saw restrictions on gatherings and the closure of businesses as a prime opportunity to isolate and exploit their victims.

Covid-19, the general election and Brexit all delayed the UK’s Domestic Abuse (DA) Bill from being pushed through parliament. The landmark Bill was branded a “once-in-a-generation opportunity” by former Prime Minister Theresa May to give survivors the support and justice they deserve, presenting the end of the traumatic practice that has seen victims cross-examined by their victims in court, new criminal sanctions being ushered in and a new Domestic Violence Commissioner. Perhaps most importantly of all is the recognition of financial abuse, coercive control and non-physical behaviour which will now be included in the UK’s statutory definition of domestic abuse. Ultimately, this means that more victims than ever before will be recognised under the legal definition, providing greater support and resources to those in need.

Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

While the Bill brings hope and opportunity for many victims, thousands are still falling through the cracks and without being formally recognised in law, these victims remain at the mercy of their abusers. So called ‘honour’-based abuse (HBA) is described as “a crime or incident which has or may have been committed to protect or defend the honour of the family and/or community” and these crimes can include female genital mutilation (FGM), forced marriage, coercive control, attempted murder and murder. Although HBA is characterised by many tactics recognised in the Domestic Abuse Bill, HBA is a unique and standalone form of abuse which is not yet recognised, and it is thought to impact Black, Asian and minority ethnic women more than any other group.

The scale of the HBA crisis is becoming glaringly apparent, particularly to charity helplines such as Refuge who saw a 700% increase in calls in just one day. The Honour-Based Violence Awareness Network (HBVN) estimates that there are around 12 honour-based murders on UK soil each yearhowever, it’s feared that the true scale of abuse may be far greater than initially thought. Natasha Rattu, director of the British charity Karma Nirvana, told ITV news: “What we know about honour-based abuse is just the tip of the iceberg. We’re finding communities affected by this issue that perhaps weren’t coming forward 10 years ago that we need to be able to identify better”.

However, the DA Bill falls short in this respect as the Bill is only capable of recognisingimmediate family members and spouses to be perpetrators of domestic abuse, whereas victims of HBA can be subjected to harassment, violence, threats and abuse from a multitude of abusers who can extend from beyond their household or immediate family bubble.

Photo by Luis Galvez on Unsplash

The omission of HBA from the Bill is made all the more stark by the fact the practice remains one of the most complex forms of abuse to prosecute, in part because the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) can only prosecute perpetrators in line with the specific offence committed, such as grievous bodily harm, rather than a holistic prosecution that includes recognising the perpetrator’s coercive control and hold over their victim.

Jaswant Narwal, CPS lead for HBA, has spoken of the struggles the CPS faces in prosecuting perpetrators stating: “there are serious issues with underreporting, they often involve vulnerable victims, and happen within familial settings and tight-knight communities”. In 2018-2019, the CPS only prosecuted four people for offences relating to forced marriages, with three resulting in prosecution. Low referral and prosecution rates can be attributed to several factors ranging from a reluctance to report incidents, a lack of awareness that forced marriage is illegal and reluctance from the police to question and prosecute family members.

Photo by Kat J on Unsplash

Yet the testimonies of HBA survivors aren’t the only ones to have gone unheard in the making of the DA Bill. Migrant women have also been overlooked as, despite being at an increased risk of domestic abuse, the DA Bill will not safeguard victims from immigration enforcement or deportation if they report their abuser, nor will it provide legitimate financial means for migrant women to escape abuse. Having ‘No Recourse to Public Funds’ as a condition of their immigration status has meant migrant abuse victims have been turned away from refuges and provided no safety net to protect them from destitution. Only women with Partner Visas are offered a marginal escape route, leaving the vast majority with permits such as a Work Visa or Student Visa to flee or face abuse entirely alone. Many discussions to amend the DA Bill to cater to the unique experiences of migrant women were had, but all amendments were dropped just as hastily as they were debated.

Further movements to ratify the Istanbul Convention that the UK signed in 2012 have ground to a halt which is another key legislation that would safeguard all women from abuse, irrespective of immigration status, and would provide a cross-collaborative approach to all countries that have signed to extradite and prosecute perpetrators of domestic abuse.

What this suggests is that the Home Office is turning a blind eye to survivors in a futile bid to reduce immigration numbers in the country – being negligent at best, and racist at worst.

It is clear that domestic abuse and, by extension, violence against women and girls (VAWG) will not end forever in this generation as we had hoped, and the fight will fall onto a generation of daughters yet to come as the infamous quote by Audre Lorde goes: “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.”

Until then, the DA Bill is one small step up the mountain and women’s struggles will wage on.

Photo by Melanie Wasser on Unsplash

Trans voices: Laura Bugalho

Interview by Maria João Medeiros

Laura Bugalho was born in Santiago de Compostela (Galiza, Spain). She studied Law and Education with a major in Social Intervention. When she was 11 years old she engaged in extracurricular activities, related to culture and politics. She was the first trans person to change their name legally on her birth certificate in Galiza. She worked as a school teacher for 26 years and helped migrant people in her free time (helping with their integration in the region).

In this interview, Maria João Medeiros speaks with Laura about transitioning and her work in the fight for trans rights.

How was it for you to be one of the first trans people in Galiza?

When I started to take the first steps towards my transition, there was not much information around, and the internet still did not have a lot of details as it has nowadays. I decided to stay in my hometown (Santiago de Compostela) and to make a statement by staying. It has really complicated, and most times, I suffered verbal and physical abuse on the streets of Santiago. To simplify: I loved Santiago de Compostela until it loved me back. So, I can after all say that my process was successful.

Are you involved in any movements in at the moment?

I am collaborating with Associação Galega de Mães e Pais de Nenas e Nenos Trans Arelas (Galician Organisation for Mothers and Parents of transgender children), and I also work for workers’ rights. I am also part of the Rede Feminista Galega (Galician Feminist Network) and Rede Internacional Trans (International Transgender Network.

In your opinion, is the prejudice and discrimination towards transgender people increasing or decreasing?

The prejudice and discrimination have decreased since 1996, but there are still some issues that we need to speak out about. The FemineTrans helps because is the proof that energy creates forces and it is a network that meets and joins the fights held before having feminism as the foundations for strength.

How do you think we can change the world’s idea of trans people, and how can we create more acceptance?

For me, the best solution would be to act locally and integrate the community in the process. To be present politically so we could be in the place we deserve. Our proud presence means achieving goals for a social and political transformation and for that to be reflected in society. I also think we should act regarding education. We should always be part of the political process, so that our voices can be heard.

How is it to work with migrants and trans migrants? What kind of problems and obstacles do you usually face?

Working with migrants and trans migrants is knocking of the legislative norms every day. Those norms deal with their own freedoms and rights legally. It is a challenge to give voice to our migrant sisters who see their rights violated in different situations. We have cases of sexual workers and trans women and that takes an extra effort regarding the country’s legislation and society’s prejudice.

What was the hardest point of your career?

Without a doubt, it was being arrested and the way I was treated in prison. The eight years I spend without a trial and to know how they were treating me.

Was there any story from the people you help, that affected you especially?

Yes, basically reporting different mafias and human trafficking organisations, and seeing how now one who’s part of it gets normally arrested.

Do you have any messages for transgender people who need help and do not know what to do in these kinds of situations?

You should look for local help, legal information and you should fight, even for a new world if that is what we need.

Gender Equality is about having a voice and choice in society!

By: Padmini Venkataraman

My journey from Singapore to India, leads me questioning the huge differences in the way woman are treated in different parts of the world. I was born in India, but was raised in Singapore most of my life. While I did a 1.5 years career stint in India, I recollect the feeling of being a woman in a Senior role, managing a team of 6 – Single, Childless at late 30s, and how that was viewed in India.

While nobody said anything openly, I could see reactions of people who wonder “Why could she not find someone, she looks nice, she is intelligent, she is perfectly fine”. I bump into another woman in India, who was 10 years younger in her late 20s. This woman was almost getting into depression. As I sat with her in Starbucks one day, she started opening up about how she was under social pressure to find a husband and settle down in her late 20s.

Every vacation with her cousins, was about attending a marriage and them finding her a potential boy, while most of her cousins close to her age, were already married, the stress was big on her. Then she made this comment, that every man in India likes these Skinny girls –but we women, we love to eat! Sigh I felt the same way, why do woman in India get portrayed as “BEAUTY OBJECTS” for men to pick out of a matrimonial site.

While I reflected on my own parents arranged marriage, they met barely 3 hours and my mother was astonishingly a beauty –fair-skinned– my sister and I – were more dusky – while my mother was the typical, original “Bollywood Actress Clone” in full form, the fair skinned beautiful Female.

Those days in India, the men were really educated, earned well, always got the most beautiful women. Nevertheless the Men of those days also had better moral values, they respected family – it’s the family who decided who they should marry and It all fell into place fine.

Today’s generation both in the East and West– we go through a lot more confusion, for one women are independent, more educated, successful. I always wondered is that good or bad, to be an educated, successful, modern woman of today’s times. My grandma I remember used to tell me every time I faced stress in the office, “Oh you don’t have to work so hard, or become a CEO. Women are like a flower, delicate, just find a man and settle down”. While I reflected on those words, I realized as a modern woman I was torn between two worlds. The world which said family comes first, it’s alright to marry a rich man and stay at home (you know what I agree too actually!). What’s wrong with taking life easy if your husband makes a pot of wealth. I would not struggle in a tough corporate world if I had a rich husband, why should I. Then the second world which says woman should be successful, independent, monetarily self-sufficient. (which I also agree with, it gives me the choice to make my own decisions!). While I thought about these two worlds, which one do I really belong to, was ringing in my head.

I constantly get judged as an ambitious, career oriented, running behind my passion type of woman. This is a stigma/bias that is created by people who observe me externally, who know nothing of my real self. While, it’s true that I am ambitious, a dreamer, go getter, well-educated, talented.

However to say I only want career that’s why I am single in late 30s is an unfair statement of judgement by many who do not know me.

I constantly get asked, “So why did you not get married, don’t you want kids. Late 30s is late enough. Oh my today’s generation thinks marriage is not that important right, because women like you can make your own money, then why marry” I stare blankly not knowing how to answer such a question. Because, there is some truth in it too. While a lot of my mother’s friends who are home-makers look at me and wonder, why is she not settling down, isn’t the biological clock ticking. However is it fair to just marry any guy from some site, basis his picture, profile and couple of phone calls – without any chemistry that lasts a life-time. While the older generation would argue how long does chemistry last, we all end up changing diapers, just marry a responsible guy. I have reflected on those statements, being caught between the East & West, I am a perfect blend of both worlds. I finally came to the conclusion, that Chemistry does count, so does marrying a responsible man, however we still need to be attracted to each other to make the marriage last a life-time.

I was wondering, do women face pressure to settle down only in India, then I came across the popular SKII advertisement in China, realizing there is no difference between China and India. Even Taiwan and others too – there are articles that talk about women being 3rd gender, because they do their PHD’s and choose to marry much later and are condemned for that. While Singapore and Hongkong tend to be open societies, more Americanized, rest of Asia is not different from India in how they view women as “beauty objects” or believe that women primarily stand for motherhood. While I really love babies, I cannot marry the wrong guy just to have babies, I would not be happy I know that, that is the change in mind-set of my generation. The popular SKII advertisement that talks about the marriage market – how woman are match-made in a bazaar fashion where their profiles are all around in the open market place for the father’s and mothers’ of potential boys to choose the best women for their son. While fathers even comment, that a woman is like property – to be good property you cannot be over-valued, over-educated, that may make the man insecure in Asia. Even Asian movies depict the same of how women should support the men not the other way around.

While I look at America, everyone is making noise about Gender Pay Gap and Diversity at C-level, American men never said their women had to “support” them at home, it’s really equal that they will mutually support each other at work and home after marriage. That has triggered a new set of Asian women marrying American men, as they find them more open to equality in marriage. I hear of divorced friends leaving Asian men for American men. Then I hear Asian men complaining how even Singaporean women have white fever, meaning an attraction to white men over Chinese Singaporean men. True enough, I know Chinese women, who only want to marry western men.

All this makes me wonder as a woman where I stand in the world. I have worked and lived in USA, Singapore, Philippines, India, Indonesia, seen and travelled the entire world. When I was working in India for just a year and half –I used to employ a maid to clean my house on weekends, from a startup called “mydidi.com” means “My Sister”. I still remember the time when 2 maids came home to clean my entire house and told me they worked very hard to make a living because their husbands had a bad drinking habit and they did not like to work. I was shocked, I asked them:

“Then why do you still live with him, if he is not responsible” and she said

“But Madam, he is a good man, he does not womanize or have any other bad habits, he only drinks and does not work, I have children with him, in my society we cannot walk out, it’s a stigma”.

I understood exactly what she meant at that point. It’s tough to be a woman (even Single woman with kids, without a husband) in a country like India – where there are rape cases happening every minute. Many women in the lower strata, marry for protection not for love, when a woman has a family – it’s a signal to rest of man-kind that she is protected, he cannot toy around with her. Keeps the wrong men away. Imagine in a slum in India – how safe would you be as a Single woman – even if let’s say that’s your choice to stay single. Would you have a choice to be Single women in a Slum, likely not, even if you are economically independent, women needed to be protected in many cities in India, and a husband, or marriage gave women security in society.

So should we all have a choice, as a woman to live the life we want?

I thanked god that day that I had a choice to be whatever I wanted to be. While I have had my ups and downs in life, however I have still had a foundation where I never fell below a certain level. While I reflected what gave me that choice to live my life the way I thought was right. While I am not saying everyone should be a Single woman in her late 30s, ideally if I met the right man I would have settled down & I still would if I met someone right today, but I just did not meet the right man yet, I do not want to settle for the wrong person who I will not be happy with, while I am still the compromising type however I cannot compromise my entire life to be with someone I do not connect with. I was lucky, that I was not forced to settle down with anyone wrong, just because of social pressure or because I needed protection. I did not have to settle. While some would say you were lucky to have parents who never forced you into an arranged marriage, that is true. I equate my dad to MALALA’s father, he always gave us choice to live our life the way we thought was right. That was one, second important factor that gives woman choice is Education. While everyone pushes for woman empowerment via entrepreneurship. Sorry I beg to differ, woman running business, with no literacy would not change her poverty circumstance, or maybe at times it may. However remember if you are not educated or literate, from doing up a business agreement to everything – you are dependent on someone else. Even if people cheat you with a wrong agreement or wrong knowledge– you may not know what are the right questions to ask, who are the right people to approach – that is where education plays a big role.

Education is the future of women’s empowerment.

An educated woman – knows what questions to ask, how to solve a problem, even if she doesn’t have great money – she would still be respected for her education and knowledge. Even if she was a stay at home mother, her education still allows her to bring up better children as she will understand what challenges her children face in society and be able to guide them as they grow up. Besides this, Education brings opportunities, it allows a woman to find her voice in the society to put out her thoughts. Lastly education also allows for economic independence and to have a choice in marriage decisions, save a million woman out of forced child marriages, abusive spouses, sexual harassment.

Send every little girl to school today over sending them to work at a tender age – while in a poor community it feels like the girl child, would be more supportive if she went to work from young to economically support the family – don’t forget your killing her dreams to get beyond a ceiling if you just let her start working over going to school at a younger age. I read about the touching story of how Oprah Winfrey said her mom, grand-mom everyone was a maid, they thought a black woman from a small town in Misissippi would only end up a maid but she became Oprah Winfrey.

To me gender equality starts with first ensuring every girl is educated as much as a boy from a young, tender age, that’s where the foundation lies, with education – her dreams can grow – it’s the seed funding to grow a much larger dream for any girl child. Let us support the fight towards getting every girl in school today, spreading this awareness in society, starts with you and you can play a part in this too.

Padmini has 15 years experience in the Banking Field, having lived and worked in various parts of the world: Philippines, Indonesia. She has a Bachelors in Business Administration from NUS, Singapore and Masters in Business Administration Institute of Management, Manila. A Startup Mentor, advocate and Speaker at Woman forums, she brings a diverse perspective to social issues including the equation on defining the lack of Gender Equality across the world.

#Challengenotaccepted

By: Samahara Hernández

Twitter: @samaharaha

Picture by Chez Negrete @cheznegrete “Malabar”

The continuous compulsion of assuming cyber-political movements into so-called “online trending”, diminishes social uprisings and rests power to socio-political movements themselves. During the past weeks, women around the virtual world have been posting selfies filtered in black & white; this, in an attempt to show support and admiration to women. The message chain transmitted in social media platforms depicts the following lines: “…among women there are several criticisms, instead, we should care of each other. We are beautiful the way we are. Post a photo in black and white alone, mention my name and write “challenge accepted”, then identify a certain number of women to do so in private… Let’s love each other”. As a matter of fact, this “challenge” has had different manifestations since 2016 (Lorenz, 2020)[1], promoting women support and empowerment by posting black and white selfies in social media; however, this “#challenge” has no concrete objective or project behind targeting a specific feminist matter.

Hence, the concept itself has been replicated into different cyber-movements, with concrete objectives and an advocacy project behind. The latest, “a mark of protest against femicides in Turkey” (Singh, 2020)[2]. The murder of Pinar Gütelkin, a 27-year-old Kurdish woman from southeast Turkey, triggered this movement in the past days. This situation of a woman being murdered by her boyfriend depicts a scenario of a violent system that does not legally protect women. Every year, the problem worsens up in the entire world, only by 2019 in Turkey, 474 women were murdered mostly by their partners or relatives (McKernan, 2020)[3]; in Mexico for instance, from 2015 to 2019 at least 3,080 women were murdered (Tenz, 2019)[4]; in Spain, around 50 women were murdered by 2019 (Jones, 2019)[5]; and currently, the COVID-19 pandemic, aggravated gender-based violence in all of its forms (IACHR, 2020)[6]around the world. Unquestionably, the very core of the #challengeaccepted trend has nothing to do to the roots of the hashtag but with the movements acquiring the optics to make it a cyber-movement.

There shouldn’t be a power struggle to whom gets the baton on where or when this hashtag emerged; indisputably, this is a #challengenotaccepted if it’s perceived on whom is right or wrong on the origins of it.  Given the situation in which life has turned out to be merely electronic, there is a huge danger of relying on one-sided stories and denying movements around the world, regardless their imagery or the “online trending” pursued.

We have seen how #BlackLivesMatter have continued to advocate towards a more inclusive and antiracial society, why can’t #ChallengeAccepted can also be part of a movement in solidarity with femicides around the world?

In a digitalized word, there is no greater power than the one language provides through social media platforms; instead of oppressing movements by trying to guess its roots, one shall empathize and unite through the discourse.

Hence, one could create different dynamics on advocacy itself, creating channels of respectful communication, to advocate against injustices, to take-action from our privilege, to support associations working towards gender equality justice… and the list goes one for us to #AcceptTheChallenge to take-action from home and make a discursive statement.  

[1]https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/27/style/challenge-accepted-instagram.html

[2]https://www.india.com/viral/challenge-accepted-origin-femicide-in-turkey-is-the-real-reason-behind-the-viral-instagram-trend-4097854/

[3]https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/jul/23/turkey-outrage-rising-violence-against-women

[4]https://www.dw.com/en/there-is-no-free-press-media-freedom-in-mexico/a-47568810

[5]https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/sep/20/mass-protests-in-spain-after-19-women-murdered-by-partners

[6]https://www.oas.org/en/iachr/media_center/PReleases/2020/074.asp

About the author:

Sam is an International Relations professional, passionate believer od innovative development projects, Feminist and Art lover. She has outstanding experience in women and gender studies, social projects, research and global development. Currently studying a Master on Innovation for Development at the Institute of Technology and Higher Education Monterrey México. She had previously studied Development Studies at L’école Supérieure de Commerce et Développement in Lyon France. Samahara has worked for the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights for the Women’s Rights Rapporteurship in DC; collaborated for the Mexican government in the Women’s Institute of Querétaro and for Save the Children in the Dominican Republic in a project on Human Trafficking. She currently works for the World Bank Group Caribbean. You can find more of gender information @genderpost, IG account managed by Sam or through her Twitter @samaharaha. 

Author of the picture:

The local hero

Author: Katie Shevlin

In 2015 I met Ana, an inspiring young woman during a trip to Pristina. Oozing with self-expression and individuality, she was a symbol of the new Kosovo. Also, a major player in the driving force behind the burgeoning, feminist movement. We spent a wonderful afternoon together. I felt privileged to learn about her life and the city in which she was born. This, in a country slowly coming to grips with the bloody conflict that happened in the late 1990’s. If you happen to know her, please ask her to contact me.

A shock of black dreadlocks, she sashayed her way across Skanderbeg Square. As she got closer, I could see that her rock-chick look was topped off by the piercings dotted about her face. And a sleeve of tattoos, where a fine, black outline of a rose, with razor-sharp thorns, took centre stage – as it twisted its way around her shoulder. She was swathed in a sea of elderly Muslim women, covered by hijabs in cobalt blue and hues of green and russet. Weighed down by mesh bags, groaning with fresh fruit and vegetables. 

Then, there were the white-collar workers. Surrounded by debris crumbled from the walls enclosing the square. Sitting in their drab office attire on layers of slithered slate. They were chomping on sandwiches, slipped out of lunch boxes and nattering with colleagues. Everyone in the square was taking full advantage of the bright autumn afternoon and all heads turned, as the black clad Ana, strolled into the limelight.

I’d been zigzagging my way down the Balkan Peninsula, an area fragmented by war and destruction, in the not so distant past. Whilst staying in Niška Banja, in southern Serbia, I’d booked a seat for the bus that would take me on the 7 hour journey, over the border and into Kosovo. This decision was much to the horror of my Serbian friends. Shaking their heads furiously and with eyes growing wider – they urged me not to go. It was dangerous. Their bias was sparked by the propaganda surrounding Serbia’s continued refusal to recognise Kosovo’s independence. This underpinned the scorn directed towards the nation and her people. I didn’t cancel my ticket and was so glad I went.

When I finally arrived at homestay, all I wanted to do was sleep. However, a furious curiosity got the better of me. So, I dumped my bag and was soon off exploring the city. I’d landed in Skanderbeg Square looking for the ‘Newborn’ sculpture but even better, I’d found Ana. Rather than dig out a map, I tend to ask local people for directions and in the past, it’s opened up so many brilliant, cultural opportunities. So, there I was, unable to stop myself, I needed to chat to this iconic gal. I simply walked over and asked her the way to the monument. In an instant, she swung her mauve backpack off her shoulder and dropped it to the ground. And using the heel of her hand, pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead, to expose huge, milk chocolate eyes and a glint of silver stabbing her eyebrow.

In perfect English and with no hint of an accent, she smiled, “Hey, sure!”.

She started pointing and talking me through the directions I should take. Then she suddenly stopped mid-sentence and turned her face to mine, with an expression that looked like she’d just had a brainwave.

Glancing swiftly at her watch, she paused for a split second.

Then asked hesitantly, “I’ve finished classes for today, so if you want, I can take you?”.

As we walked away from the square, probably looking like a couple of friends in full mourning she said, “Your hair’s cool, I love purple”. Then after running her eyes over me, “And your black skirt! Wow look at all those zips”

It was almost like we clicked immediately; two women, divided by 30 years, neither any intent to conform to societal expectations.

A 19-year-old art student, she was in her first year at the University of Pristina. Being the creative type, Ana had shaped her own unique style, in a society seeped in modesty. There were no body art outlets in Pristina and hungry for self-expression, she’d taken it upon herself to modify her own body – with a little help from YouTube. She’d pierced her nose, tragus, navel, lip and eyebrow. Tattooed her arm and transformed her hair into a wild tangle of dreads. Remembering the pain from my own skin being drilled into, by a professionaltattoo artist.

I asked if it hurt, she giggled, “Oh yeah, but it was worth it”.

We passed a dingy car park, attached to the derelict building that had once been a supermarket. Scruffy teenagers in ripped t-shirts and oversized khaki bottoms, had claimed it as their own. Practicing kick starts on battered skateboards, the tinny shriek of Nirvana filling the air; as they yelled ‘cool’ and high-fived, whenever a trick was perfected.

Ana pointed out her brother and waved over at a friend and shrugged apologetically.

“I need to be home by 7, I’m piercing her belly button”, she chuckled.

It seemed like she was setting a trend, inspiring other young Kosovars to embrace their identity. In a country ripped apart by war and hatred and playing catch up with the rest of Europe. And indeed, the rest of the world.

‘Newborn’, stood in bold, block capitals, each letter represented by its own 10-foot metal sculpture. Unveiled on February 17th, 2008, to signify Kosovo’s independence from Serbia. Its original colour was yellow, although Ana explained, the design was prone to change every year. She told me that in 2013, it was painted with the flags of all the nations that had, so far, recognised Kosovo as an independent state. Her face twisted, as if in pain and she shook her head with frustration, as she said.

Image: courtesy of the author.

“It’s good we’re seen as a country by some, but we’re still isolated and can’t go abroad because they won’t give us a visa”.

It seemed that independence hadn’t changed life in Kosovo, in the ways people had hoped. ‘Newborn’ was situated slap bang in the middle of a busy shopping precinct. Kosovars passed it in droves, seemingly oblivious – they’d long given up hope of any prosperity. On the other hand, tourists rushed to capture the symbol of a new era, through the lens of their camera.

I was surprised to see a branch of Mango. The fashionable clothing chain was sitting directly behind the monument. I found it strange, because the general fashion sense in Pristina more accurately resembled the 1980’s. It took me back to when the Berlin Wall was torn down and East German citizens emerged from the rubble in frumpy, dowdy clothing. This image wouldn’t have looked out of place transported to Pristina in 2015. It was almost like Kosovars were in a fashion time-warp. However, it all became clear once I’d shared my thoughts with Ana. Her tone switched to angry mode, for the first time.

“It’s a lack of money”, she retorted, in a country where the average salary was 200 Euro per month, “most people can’t afford to shop in Mango”.

So, not being able to obtain a visa was probably the least of people’s worries. They’d expected the economy to strengthen after independence, along with a much-needed boost in jobs and fairer salaries. The daily struggle to meet the most basic needs was still a reality, six years after independence.

Ana was itching to take me to the lesser known ‘Heroinat’ memorial. She explained on the way there, that the word heroinat was the Albanian plural, for hero. A spectacular 3-dimensional structure, its tall, solid frame outlined against the high-rise apartments typical in Pristina. Embedded with 20,000 bronze medals, it honoured the same number of ethnic Albanian women, raped during the 16-month conflict between 1998 and 99. These recent atrocities had been deeply rooted in the decade long cycle of violence and vengeance. The Serbian persecution of the 93% majority Albanian population. 

Ana rubbed her finger gently over the engraved face on one of the coins and around its decorated edge. Then her eyes welled up. She fixed her gaze at the sky and tried not to burst into tears. Ana had been 13 years old during the conflict. An ethnic Albania herself, she’d been old enough to remember the horrors of trying to survive during that period of terror. Whilst she didn’t disclose any personal details about her own family’s experiences during the war, she did share that her school had been razed to the ground.

However, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, as she sobbed.

“We work with these women who were raped in the war, they still have trauma”. elaborating further she said, “Most of these war crimes are still untried, and victims live with the horrific memories and scars, every single day”.

However, it’s only when the 20,000 symbols of honour come together, that the powerful image is generated. A single, magnified profile of a hero, now golden, from the twinkle of sunlight reflecting the bronze. She towered over us, as we gazed up in humble admiration. We both walked off in silence.

The aroma of grilled meat and the sizzling of onions wafting over from a Turkish food stall, soon brought my senses back to life. I could already taste the spicy lamb tingle in my mouth. Ana told me it was one of the better kebab joints in town, but she’d have dinner at home. Spoiled for choice, I settled for the lightly marinated chicken kebab, sliced off the side of a rotating spit with a long sharp knife. Enveloped in soft warm flatbread, with a spicy garlicky sauce, raw onions and voluptuous red tomatoes. Garnished with a few crunchy fries – but sadly, no napkin.

As I wiped the juices off my chin with the sleeve of my jacket, Ana led me to parts of the city tucked away down alleyways, off the main drag. Great places, I’d never have discovered on my own. We trawled the charity shops searching for those clothes, she often alters before stepping out with a quirky panache.

Twisting a button and looking down at the baggy black shirt she was wearing. She laughed.

“This was a man’s and I cut off the collar and sleeves”. And as it started to glide down her shoulder, she said, “It cost mmmhhm 50 cents?”.

“Wow! You got a bargain there” I replied.

On our way to the market, pyramids of shiny orange and red paprika, were piled high on the wooden carts lining both sides of the street. There was also an flurry of curly, hazel feathers, floating out of the small wire cages stacked up on the pavement, crammed with screeching chickens. The Central Bazaar was wedged between the mosque and an area where farmers gathered to hawk their tart goats cheese. The creamy cheese was scooped up by a gloved hand from huge wooden barrels bound by metal hoops. 

They also sold kos a pungent, goats-cheese yoghurt. Ana’s eyes crinkled around the edges and a smile grew gradually on her face, as she pulled the plastic spoon that’d been heaped with a free sample, slowly out her mouth. I wasn’t too keen, suppose it’s an acquired taste, but I didn’t tell her that. It was just as well, because with great fondness, she said.

“It’s a pity you’re not staying longer, or I could have taken you to my grandmother’s place in Dragas, in the mountains. She makes her own goats cheese and the best kos and thyme biscuits.”

I told her I really wished too that I could have visited her gran in the mountains.

“Maybe next time” she smiled.

Next to the farmers, stood the butchers in their white aprons, streaked with dark blood. They were squabbling with customers, bartering for the newly slaughtered meat and poultry. The butchered meat had left a stream of fresh blood, that ran along the cobbled street trying unsuccessfully, to find a drain.

Inside, the market was pulsating with denizens. Ana linked my arm, as she guided me through the maze of kiosks, knowing exactly the best route to take. People shoved or elbowed their way to the front of crowded stalls, screamed over each other and grappled to catch the vendors attention. In the middle of the bedlam, I was fascinated by the painstaking care women took as they held and squeezed one apple after another, scrutinising the pale, green flesh. Until satisfied the fruit was perfect in every way. 

That musky, clean smell from the vibrant flora plucked from the forests of Kosovo, lingered after us as we scuffled our way around the ear-splitting market. The likes of coral carnations, indigo peonies and apricot forsythia – all poking their pretty petals out from the huge plastic buckets where they stood. Customers hunched their shoulders, as they scooped the flowers protectively up into their arms. Trying to keep them intact, as they squeezed their way between the stalls, pushing to get to the exit. Leaving a trail of water that had dripped from the stems of flowers, once removed from their temporary home.

Ana was on a mission! We were heading to a stand that sold memorabilia from the former Yugoslavia. And she’d guessed correctly, I’d found some of the souvenirs interesting. As we approached the stall, the blinding light from a single bulb haphazardly dangling from the ceiling, illuminated the elderly owner. He was sitting cross-legged on a wooden milking stool, wrapped up in a grey herringbone coat. And he adorned, what looked like, a pure, gold crucifix, that creeped over the collar of his mustard cardigan. 

And his glasses, nearly touched the military medal he held in his hand, polishing with care. He smiled up and invited us to look around. The stall was jam-packed with army knives, metal militia helmets and decorated officer uniforms. My favourite items were the amazing flags on display. They were all mementos from the conflicts, prior to the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia fragmenting into distinct countries.

Translated by Ana, the man asked where I was from as we were leaving. She dared me to answer ‘Skoci’. So, when I did, he sucked in a long, deep, breath and held the palm of his hand in front of my face. To stop me from leaving. It was only when he’d heard us talking in English, he realised I wasn’t Kosovar. So, perhaps he felt touched that someone from as far away as Scotland, had made the effort to visit his country; while others avoided it. 

Anyway, he reached under the counter and dragged out a huge cardboard box, battered around the edges and began to rummage through it. Tossing aside maps and some parachute helmets, he was able to delve deeper inside the old box. Then, as if by magic he pulled out a glistening fridge magnet. An outlined border of Kosovo, set on wood. The blank space filled in, with clumps of artificial silver quartz. When he presented it to me, he refused to take any money. 

It was a gift. It touched me more deeply because the man was a Christian Serb, identified as such by his crucifix. So, he was part of the minority 1.3% of Serbians in Kosovo. He had somehow managed to remain in the country, whilst most others had been exiled to Serbia and Montenegro pre-1999. So every time I open the fridge, I’m reminded of this gentleman’s strength and kindness.

Ana suggested we visit a nearby tea house, one of the few traditional places left having survived the phenomenon of time and war. I must admit, when I heard the word ‘traditional’, I had flashbacks to those tea houses I’d once visited in Japan. Beautiful architectural structures with intricate patterns carved into wooden panels, draped from the walls of softly lit establishments. And the green tea, streaming from those elegant, slender sterling silver teapots. Only, around the middle of the vessel had been replaced by crystal clear glass. So, you could watch as the tea leaves swirled, when it tilted forward to pour into your porcelain cup.

On the other hand, Tedaja Sabit was a pretty small and spartan affair. A few shaky tables scattered around the pavement, with a similar amount of seating available inside. However, it was renowned for its vitamin infused, chai rusi or Russian tea – served black and very heavily sugared. We sat at one of the few alfresco tables, as dusk began to fall. Watching as customers drifted off, one by one, with Ana mentioning, probably going home for dinner.

She explained the old tea houses were in fact, communities unto themselves. Hubs of activity where the older generation, mainly men, went to not only drink tea, but to socialise and roar with laughter. Voices and tempers were only said to escalate, when the more serious issues were up for discussion. 

The arrival of the waiter was signalled by the rattle of tiny narrow-waisted glasses, carried on a metal salver. Together with a double-stacked copper tea pot. Blackened around its sides, from where the flames had licked the metal, on the open top stove. Tilting the spout forward, he began to top-up the near-empty glasses, for the last few remaining customers. 

When he reached the table, he poured our tea and asked Ana a question in Albanian. She grew excited and nodded her head enthusiastically. We attempted to drink the tea from the dainty glasses, but they were too scalding hot to pick up with our fingers. When the waiter returned, I realised why she was so amused. He placed a lilac ceramic bowl filled with boiled eggs, onto the yellow and black checked tablecloth. 

She’d watched enough American movies, to know it was pastries and cakes folk usually stuffed their faces with in cafes. The eggs were still sealed, in their speckled brown shells. I turned to Ana, in the way of asking for an explanation. As she rolled an egg on the table with the palm of her hand, crushing the shell, she smiled.

“Oh, it’s a tradition here, we love to eat eggs together with sweet tea, it’s delicious!”.

Curious to know how the tradition originated, she laughed.

“Oh, I’ll need to ask my grandmother and tell you then!”

She gently nudged my arm and rolled her eyes. Then when she had my attention, nodded her head to the side. Two old men, one of them exposing his salmon pink gums, looked like he’d just had a fright. They were both wearing white brimless skull caps and sitting at the next table. The handles of their walking sticks were hooked over the back of their rattan chairs and they were glaring at us. Despite the looks of disapproval, Ana didn’t seem to care and neither did I. She told me she was used to being shunned and despised, for the way she looked.

As the call to prayer echoed across the city, she spoke about her elderly Muslim neighbours. They yelled “you will rot in hell” every time they passed her on the street. She laughed as she told the story. Quite right I thought, she should feel proud when other people disapprove of her style. I was the same when I was younger, I told her. If older people looked at me distastefully, I was happy. It meant I had the ability to express my individuality through my appearance. So, rather than deter her, I thought it would probably encourage her to push the boundaries, even further. I gave her one quick example of a time when my mother criticised my hair or lack of it.

I’d come back from India with my head shaved. All my friends thought it was cool but my mum absolutely hated it. Feeling quite indignant when she criticised me, I roared,

“Well, all my pals like it!”. Said she, “Well, if anyone tells you that’s nice they’re kidding the arse of you”. Glaswegian slang for ‘they’re lying to you’, which I explained to Ana who was laughing her head off.

She spoke fondly of her mum, a Social Worker.

She told me, “I think I’m the way I am because of her. She never judges anybody and has been honest with me since I was a child. She encourages me every day to follow my dream to be an artist”.

“My dad’s a secondary school teacher and he’s always helped me academically, so I could get into a good university”, she added.

I told her it seemed like she had the perfect combination of parents. She told me.

“You know, during the war my dad helped me a lot ‘cos it was too dangerous even to go outside, so studying at home helped and kept my mind busy”.

Her mother’s frustrations, about the severe lack of legal protection for women in the country, motivated Ana to campaign alongside her. So, together with a small group of local women, they’d begun to acknowledge the sexual violence, inflicted against the female population by the Serbian army. She went on to explain.

“You know, we have lots of monuments in Pristina celebrating male war heroes. But it was only after 2013, that the sacrifice made by women was recognised with the Heroinat monument. That really broke the silence.”

They were also reaching out to women and girls currently experiencing sexual and domestic violence. And attempting to shatter the age-old stigma around speaking out about abuse, considered by many to be ‘private matters’. She explained the severity of the situation for women and children. A recent survey found that 68% of Kosovar women had experienced domestic violence, at least once in their lives. The same 2015 survey concluded that 20% of the male andfemale respondents believed it was acceptable for a man to beat his wife.

Her mum had been key in setting up a women’s refuge in Pristina. It provided safe accommodation for women and children, along with support, information and advice. Ana believed the country had a prevailing patriarchal mindset and a difficult economic situation.

“A lethal combination that increased violence and trapped women and children in abusive households”, she said.

Women were coming forward, slowly but steadily, for advice or to seek the scarce refuge space. Together they were advocating for the right to be treated with dignity and to speak for themselves, being undermined by men in their families, as well as by men in public spaces.

After Ana had left to go home, I reflected on her urgency to show me the ‘Heroinat’ monument. I was so glad she did. Even though it had cost her a great deal of emotional pain. She’d placed herself in a vulnerable position, to raise awareness of the persecution of ethnic Albanian women, during the conflict. Violence that had continued to that present day for many Kosovar women. Only this time, the perpetrators weren’t soldiers.

In Scotland, services responding to gender-based violence, whilst not perfect, are more developed than in Kosovo. So, meeting this young woman, scratching at the surface, of the lengthy and complex process of effecting change; in a society entrenched with misogyny, has remained with me to this day.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Shevlin’s passions in life include travel, writing, research, photography and contributing to the fight to eradicate violence against women. Having travelled to over 60 countries, she has been able to blend her interests, to raise awareness of women’s oppression, and its manifestations, in countries around the world. Attempting to speak to women to learn about their lived experience is crucial, especially in the developing world, since quite often it is the first time anyone has shown an interest in her life and opinions.

Find Out More

If you are interested in learning more about the campaign to end the kafala system, Katie recommends following ‘This is Lebanon’ on Facebook/Twitter. A group of activist women, many previously employed as migrant domestic workers, they offer women support to escape their abusers. Also assisting them practically, by confronting employers to battle for individual workers human rights. Having travelled widely, I have written other accounts of violence against women, mainly in Asian countries. Please contact Katie for further information or to let me know you are interested in this topic:

katieshevlin62@gmail.com

07488767877

If you would like to read more of Katie’s blogs about women around the world and solo female travel

The Kafala System – A Gateway into Slavery & Human Trafficking

Author: Katie Shevlin

The familiar sound of blasting car horns and the babble of Arabic chatter drifted up to the balcony where I sat with my coffee. It signalled ‘business as usual’ on the congested streets of Beirut.

It was reassuring. The day before, I’d been driven through suffocating clouds of black smoke. Rising from heaps of burning rubber tyres, thrown onto blazing bonfires by angry crowds of men. I welcomed the arrival of my French flatmate Arielle, who joined me with a pot of tea. She reckoned it would be safe enough to explore the city – albeit with caution. Being an Arabic student living in the city, I trusted her advice gleaned from local networks.

Glancing over to the flats opposite, a young Asian woman dressed in a white work uniform stepped onto the balcony. Getting down on her hands and knees, she began scrubbing the surface of the lengthy veranda with active vigour. As she did so, a frowning Lebanese woman towered over her cross armed, scrutinising the frantic cleaning.

Aghast and confused, I turned to Arielle, who casually explained live-in maids were common in Lebanon. Seen as ‘property’ and ‘treated like dirt’. So, although things seemed pretty normal on the streets of Beirut, a darker side began to unfold. The kafala system, an inherently abusive sponsorship arrangement, leaves migrant domestic workers vulnerable to a gateway into slavery and human trafficking.

They call it the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, a frequency bias. You know the way you notice something new, at least it is new to you and suddenly you are aware of it all over the place? In reality, there is no increase in occurrence, it is just that you have started to notice it. No prizes for guessing what I began to see everywhere.

On reaching to close the bedroom shutters to get dressed, a middle-aged Black women was hard at work on the balcony directly opposite. Looking drawn and exhausted, she wore a shabby nightshirt and a yellow scarf sitting askew on the side of her head. Heavy blankets were shaken over the balcony and given their weight, she’d perfected the knack of throwing them high in the air to land perfectly on the elevated clothesline. 

Given the close proximity of living spaces, when our eyes met I flashed over a friendly smile. The look of alarm etched on the woman’s face in return took me aback. In a flash, her back was turned and she hastily unwound the wide canopy. And when the blank screen dropped, she was out of sight.

My heart sank at the possibility that perhaps fear was behind her failure to return a friendly gesture. Perhaps, she was warned not to communicate with others? Staying in what was a relatively low-income neighbourhood of Beirut, I found it surprising that domestic workers were hired there at all. However, they’re excluded from Lebanese Employment Law, including the National Living Wage ($450 per month). Instead they’re governed by the oppressive kafala system – when salaries vary significantly or not paid at all.

Ethiopian women waiting for their sponsor at Beirut Airport – even though the Ethiopian government has banned women for working in Lebanon.

Image: courtesy of the author.

Migrant domestic workers in Lebanon are trapped in a web woven by the kafala system. At any one time, there are over 250,000 women in Lebanon – mainly from the poorer African and South East Asian countries. They expect to complete their contract before returning home to the families. The families who sorely depended on the dollars wired from abroad for their survival. The legal residency of the worker is tied to the contractual relationship with the sponsor. Leaving workers vulnerable to exploitation and abuse – with little prospect of redress. 

The written consent from sponsors, essential to change jobs or return home early, is rarely granted. The systematic and harrowing abuse of migrant workers is endemic in the reports available. Women suffer regular beatings and are assaulted for minor errors, imprisoned in small rooms,starved, deprived of sleep, banned from leaving the house and passports are routinely confiscated.

More extreme reports tell of sexual abuse and exploitation. Often resulting in torture and murder. According to the activist group ‘This is Lebanon’ two migrant domestic workers die in Lebanon every week. Either murdered, suicide or a murder disguised as suicide. Others fall/pushed from balconies – some while trying to escape.

Image: courtesy of the author.

It was time to head out. The narrow chaotic streets led me the way to downtown Beirut. The distinctive scent of mint and lavender filled the air and I thought an outdoor market could be near. I love markets, they always provide a unique opportunity to experience a new culture and soak up the vibrant atmosphere. While sampling street food and being amazed at the mixture of goods on offer. 

Wading deeper into the sprawling market, locals crowded around stalls displaying everything from underwear to parts for bicycles. People shoved or elbowed their way to the front, shouting over each other, grappling to catch the vendors attention. In the thick of the bedlam, a forlorn Asian woman trailed behind her employer. With her tiny frame and wide eyes, she looked more like a 13 or 14-year-old child.

Like me, she looked out of place. Wrapped like a parcel in the middle of a crowd of Muslim women. Their heads covered in an array of eye-catching veils and scarves. Whilst her long black hair blew freely in the breeze. She was waiting patiently, while her sponsor painstakingly held and gently squeezed one tomato after another. 

Studying the red flesh until she was satisfied – then continued the search for more. If you’re like myself, you’ll pick up a bag of oranges, quickly scan for any rotten ones and then throw them in your basket. So, the scrutiny and care some women take when selecting fresh fruit and veg never fails to amaze me, when I travel around the world. 

Without any cue or eye contact, the maid instinctively lifted the bag of carefully selected fruit and added to her already heavy burden. Armed to the teeth with interest and curiosity, I enjoy learning about people’s lives when I travel. Although I was eager to speak to a domestic worker any attempt seemed futile. The women, rarely alone or out of reach. 

Or as I’d considered earlier, could a smile even be dangerous? Ras An Nabaa was by no means a tourist hotspot and English not widely spoken. It crossed my mind that perhaps these circumstances, whilst oppressive for workers, may actually be welcomed by employers. It added another layer of armour, to the already strict conditions that stopped domestic workers from seeking help. There were no passing tourists.

Arielle believed ‘the Lebanese were racist’. Whilst taken aback by her rather sweeping statement, it became clear from the reports that much of the prejudice towards these workers is underpinned by racism. Anecdotal evidence suggests that nationality and skin colour were important detriments of salary. 

Many choose to employ Bangladeshi women. They are the least expensive to recruit and work for the lowest salary. Followed closely by Indonesians and Ethiopians. Who are routinely paid less than $200 a month – for a 7-day week, with no set work hours. Women from the Philippines are said to be the highest earners at $300+ a month. Whilst some women are treated well by employers and considered to be part of the family; many others are mistreated.

I never made it far out of Ras An Nabaa that day. I came across a small, modest, restaurant and chatted to Beria who ran the place for her father. She was as desperate to use her polished English skills as I was to hear them. The muted TV screen was flashing ‘breaking news’ style headlines. Behind the screen, men, their faces distorted with anger, were punching their fists into the air. Glancing over at Beria for some clue, she threw back her head and laughed “everything is fine!”. I was not convinced.

A boy with badly stained front teeth appeared, carrying a small wooden crate piled high with plump, shiny aubergines. The 15-year-old Ahmed a Syrian refugee with Afghan green eyes, sported an Elvis-esque quiff. Beria had given him a job, “so he can eat and get a small allowance for cigarettes and transport”. 

She often provided  food for his 6 siblings, orphans living in the Shatila refugee camp, on the outskirts of the city. The racism experienced by Syrians in Lebanon, meant they were rarely offered jobs and struggled to survive. Being a Christian, Beria had wanted to help. It seemed like racism seeped into the lives of many people in Lebanon. Just like in many other countries. 

I headed home after a scrumptious dinner of kofta served with a side of mutabbla, (garlic mixed with baked aubergines). I wrapped it all up in warm flatbread – straight from the oven to my plate. It was early evening and as usual the streets were pretty sparse of women. Having little need to go outside except to go shopping, they were behind closed doors – along with their maids.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Shevlin’s passions in life include travel, writing, research, photography and contributing to the fight to eradicate violence against women. Having travelled to over 60 countries, she has been able to blend her interests, to raise awareness of women’s oppression, and its manifestations, in countries around the world. Attempting to speak to women to learn about their lived experience is crucial, especially in the developing world, since quite often it is the first time anyone has shown an interest in her life and opinions.

Find Out More

If you are interested in learning more about the campaign to end the kafala system, Katie recommends following ‘This is Lebanon’ on Facebook/Twitter. A group of activist women, many previously employed as migrant domestic workers, they offer women support to escape their abusers. Also assisting them practically, by confronting employers to battle for individual workers human rights. Having travelled widely, I have written other accounts of violence against women, mainly in Asian countries. Please contact Katie for further information or to let me know you are interested in this topic:

katieshevlin62@gmail.com

07488767877

If you would like to read more of Katie’s blogs about women around the world and solo female travel