Women in a Maze
Ahmad Ghashmary, Jordan, Age 23

A young man shares a news report from 2006 that challenges readers: Did the story actually happen? Are there even female judges in Jordan? Why aren’t men fully prosecuted for murdering female relatives over so-called ‘honor crimes’? While the government fails to protect the lives of female citizens, the author’s searing indictment imagines what a real progress might look like.

On August 31, 2006, Jordanian Supreme Court suspended Fatima Habib, 35, a Jordanian female judge, from her position as a judge. The decision came two days after she had sentenced Saleh Radwan, 27, to death for killing his younger sister Dana, 21, when he discovered that she has a male friend and that she has an affair with him.

"My sister dishonored the reputation of the family for having an affair with a friend," answered Saleh when asked once by a journalist about the reason of the murder.

Most judges in Jordan were against the sentence and asked the court to cancel it and appoint a male judge in order to do justice for the ‘dishonored man.’ "What would we expect from a woman judging a man for killing another woman. Of course she would have stabbed him herself if she could," said Mohammad Awwad, the attorney appointed to defend the murderer.

Everyone has expressed their relief after the decision of the court.

Fatima Habib is believed to be biased to women because she has thrown behind her back any consideration for the "fit of fury" defense in "honor" crimes cases, even when the murder was clearly premeditated. So it is seen in Jordan, and everyone is satisfied, as they believe the penal code should condone these cases by providing the murderer with reduced sentences. But is this justice?

Manar Salameh, 21, a friend of the deceased said with tears: “Dana was an angel. I can't believe she is murdered, she was in love with Ayman and they were to marry after graduation. Oh! No we're not savages, we're civilized."

Many other friends of the victim said that Dana had not done anything wrong, and that her relationship with Ayman was as pure as any other relationship of friendship and courtly love. "It seems that the story reported to her brother, by envious people, was so much distorted because the crime happened while Dana and I were strolling in the campus," said Ayman who was kept under protection all the time lest the ‘dishonored’ family harm him out of uncontrolled fury. 

Fatima Habib considers the decision complete barbarism and primitivism. She adds that it will take us ages to convince people here that women are human beings, and they are as wise as men if not wiser sometimes. Fatima would never put her hands up and surrender. She said that she has the right to be a judge or even a prime minister without doing any harm to the criteria of justice.

"Extremists in our midst spread propaganda claiming that women’s liberation is a western thought aiming at eradicating Islamic morals. This propaganda is false, and its purpose is to confuse you and justify acts of extremism against women. Those extremists know nothing about Islam because one of the major messages of this religion is to defend women and give them their rights to be as equal as men," says Fatima.

“I think the court – including those self-centered men of law and the society as a whole – are the murderers of Dana."

Monologue with the Prince
K.N., Saudi Arabia, Age 25

A blogger describes the isolation of growing up in a rigid patriarchal society and the impact of a thwarted chance to speak back to the establishment. What at first appears to be a simple account of mischievous behavior is thrown into stark relief by the essay’s electric final phrase. Repression in the Saudi kingdom spawns a disaffected activist… and, it would appear, the murder of civilians.

I felt so lucky when I was selected to be one of six students representing the university to the expeditionary forum for national dialogue late 2004. That period was the kick off for a number of national dialogue sessions as part of a reform step to disseminate the culture of dialogue, freedom of expression, and respecting the other view in the country.

Although those sessions were in all, so to speak, airtight attended by specific individuals where a preset topic was discussed every hour of the session, but you could not stop thinking being distinguished when being selected from among 20 million people that make up our country, and feel so thrilled that you are given the chance to express yourself. Therefore, I was so fervent for that forum since I would at last be able to express myself freely and frankly, but was disappointed just before we headed to the forum when a senior university official warned us to pay attention to what we would say, and not say anything at all because such meetings are mere formalities.

We went to the holy city of Mecca where the forum was, and the first session in the first day was an introductory one during which the schedule was explained and instructions and advises were given. One of the advices that was over-repeated stated, "Carefully measure every word before uttering it." I was shocked yet again. The second session hosted the Minister of Education, Dr Mohammad Al-Rasheed, and was of especial interest to high school students, since we, college students, relate to the Ministry of Higher Education. However, the session was mere routine since the questions posed by the students were actually written by their teachers, and you may imagine how dull the question was when the student read it diligently.

The shocks kept on coming. The next session, which was the most important in the schedule, was set to host the Prince of Mecca, Prince Abdul-Majeed bin Abdul-Azeez Al-Saud. We were surprised when, a few minutes prior to the arrival of the Prince, we were ordered to leave the conference room and move up to the second floor. We were stunned, but went to the second floor only to be surrounded by a number of police officers, especially brought to the session, while the room below was almost empty, save some seats for leading expeditionary leaders and some journalists. The Prince gave a speech that you would read in any third world newspaper, there was nothing new in it at all, repeating the cliché that we had to thank God that our country is one of the best in the world and for the wise government and for security and safety. As for reform, he said that it was coming but it would call for some patience and tolerance, because reform comes slowly, but surely!

While the Prince was talking, I began to hear the voice of the Egyptian comedian Adil Imam saying his famous comic phrase "she is used to, always!"*

I thought that I was daydreaming, but the clip was being repeated, only to find out that the voice was coming from my friend Mansoor's cell phone. He played that clip over and over, and in vain were all my attempts to stop him when I felt that we might get in a big trouble, but that was Mansoor's way of expressing himself. Mansoor's way inspired the other guys who played the sound of fireworks rockets (this signifies, in our culture that the speaker is lying) and the suppressed laughs were heard. The officers began to feel there was something strange going on, but thought that it was the chatting of the childish students, while the rest were below us and well distanced from hearing the view of the majority concerning the Prince's speech.

A few minutes later, the Prince finished his speech and left without receiving questions or listening to comments! It was a dialogue from one side! As for the other sessions, they were marginal ones that we were every now and then run away from. I was so disappointed, and my wishes faded away when I thought that I found the opportunity to express myself, even if for one time.

I could not find a way to express myself freely until after a year from that forum when I started my own blog. I have found in that blog a way to express some of the ideas I have, and I am still keen on blogging although what I write constitutes only less than the quarter of what I think and want to say.  Many more friends of mine warn me to be careful as to what I blog, telling me that there are many individuals in prison for expressing themselves frankly, and that they are not allowed access to attorneys. Some of those jailed served many years in prison and, after serving their sentence, are still being imprisoned.

I know for sure how much those friends love me, but I do not know how a human can live without freedom of expressing himself. How long should we live under such a situation that goes from bad to worst? Although we live in a country whose oil incomes rank among the best in the world, prices are skyrocketing, unemployment among the youth is high, and even those who find jobs would barely be able to cover daily needs.

It is my right to live a dignified life and enjoy full rights. Until that moment arrives, I shall continue entertain some of my rights of expression till the secret police raid and cuff me to jail. As for my friend Mansoor, he would not worry about the secret police because six months after the forum, we heard that he “martyred” himself in Iraq.

* Comedian Adil Imam plays an innocent idiot living next door to a prostitute who gets murdered. At the trial of her murderer, Imam is deposed by the prosecutor. One statement goes "Your neighbor was used, always,to go …" but the witness either cries or interrupts. So the DA repeats it many times trying to finish the sentence. When the trial resumes, the DA says "You neighbor …" and here the witness, having heard the statement repeatedly, interrupts "She was used to, ALWAYS! She was used to, ALWAYS!" He says it in a rhythmic, funny way (with the implication that she was doing something illicit). Ever since that play the phrase “She is used to, ALWAYS" has become a way of implying that either the speaker is unnecessarily over-repeating something, or just simply said to make fun of the conversation/debate/situation.

Dreaming Back
Abdessamad Benjouda, Morocco, Age 22

A journalist answers Hughes’ poem about a dream deferred with a litany of his own postponed dreams. A cri de coeur against injustice and for individual rights, the essay’s cadences and references pointedly address Arabic-speaking audiences. The perspective is both jaded and hopeful, as the writer expresses his desire to critically examine the “holy trinity” of god, country, and king, his country’s motto.

My dreams have always undergone several changes since childhood. I dreamt of becoming a translator, a poet, and then a journalist—a dream came true after hard work.

These are my personal dreams. As for my dreams for my country and the Middle East, they have never changed, but, on the contrary, have been accumulating and multiplying over years. Whenever a dream proves hard to achieve, another dream is born out of it.

******                      ******                        ******

I have been dreaming of a Middle East where Mullahs and Ayatollahs do not destroy the dreams of the weak.
I wish that extremists come to understand that the holy text differs from ijtihad, because we still sanctify ijtihad in explaining the holy text!

I dream that those who wrap themselves with the cloak of religion, diving into the sea of politics, and unjustly stain it would repent.

I dream that reasoning would beat excommunication in their ethical, fateful battle.

******                      ******                        ******

I dream that...

the mean, flattering facilitators would extinct from the Middle East!

all regimes that have no good credit among the miserable Arab citizens would evaporate.

we cart off the corona of sanctity and deism from our leaders, and take out of their speeches (that are unbelievable even by the dumbest people) all the rhetoric, false promise, and the games of disguise only to find ourselves at the end face to face with speeches characteristic of terrorism discourse.

those leaders who envisage loss as victory would sop doing this, so that we would, as much as we could, forget their Qadissiya(1) and Um-el-Ma'arik(2) and throw them into the wastebasket of history!

leaders would believe that in politics, as in love, there is a time for kissing a girl.

leaders stop fooling their peoples, strip their smiles, and live at their sorrows.

******                      ******                        ******

I dream that...

we infuse life into our speech and alter the way we speak, and discontinue our rhetoric games on satellite TVs.

we do not let out daily language die, that it would be equal using it in screaming and argument!

those who can barely read would stop presenting themselves on government-owned TVs as cultivated and political analysts!

That the satirical British playwright G.B. Shaw's "democracy is allowing all passengers drive the train, leading to collision, and then disaster" would not be applicable to us.

******                      ******                        ******

Although I believe that the Middle East map is difficult and easy at the same time (difficult to draw, easy to tear!), I still dream that we remove from our lexicons such terms as "Iraqization, Lebanonizatoin, Kurdization, etc."

I dream that the Middle Eastern peoples grow up and mature so as not to repeat such words as "tribe, honor killings, conspiracy, treasuring, etc."

I dream that we do not label anyone who opposes us as a spy!

******                      ******                        ******

I dream that we correct the West's mistaken view about us, because we are in their subconscious one of two types; either a hateful suicidal youth who is a mass murderer, or a long-beard, witless, fat old man who has four wives of whom you can only see their eyes and know nothing of the world save bearing children, and so would be good models for involuntary birth control!

We tried pan-Arabism, tribal fanaticism, and Arabisation. What was the result? Seas of tears capable of drowning!

We tried extremism, fundamentalism, and throat slitting. What was the result? Waves of fiery sorrows capable of burning.

We do not know what we want, but accuse the world of not understanding us and consider anyone who opposes us an enemy whose death we command and allow!

Why don't we stop thinking that our success lie in the loss of the other, our joy its misery? The eye-for-eye policy would make the whole world blind!

******                      ******                        ******

I have been dreaming that...

we do not think of freedom as a Western product.

we stop remaining void politically, economically, and academically.

the simple citizen stop clinging to margins!

******                      ******                        ******

It is true that inequality cannot be eradicated, but we can lessen it. The Middle Eastern woman can nominate and gain votes qualifying her for victory in integral parliamentary and presidential elections where the ballot has the upper hand.

Ah! How narrow that future seems when we reflect over the past!

I dream that Arabs would stop whipping themselves, because that dead is not worth crying over!

I dream that we become satisfied that dealing with what we have is better than waiting for the missing!

I dream that we believe the happiest days are those still ahead!

Finally, I dream that my dreams stop being mere dreams in the imaginary world! I also dream that I will not be the one described in those famous lines:

When I dream, I am the master of Khornaq and Sadeer(3);

If awake, the owner of a cow and a camel!

******                      ******                        ******

Ah! I wish we can achieve our dreams with the least losses possible, but nothing comes free!

I also dream, personally, that I can, as a Middle Eastern journalist, write about the Holy Trinity freely but responsibly!

--------------------------------------------------------
1 Qadissiya is the name Saddam Hussein labeled the war with Iran (1980-1988).
2 Um-el-Ma'arik is Saddam's naming of the second Gulf War (1991).
3 Khornaq and Sadeer are famous Persian palaces.

The Paranoia of Oppression
Mariam Bazeed, Egypt, Age 22

In this essay’s social context, gay rights are not about attaining civic privileges but rather the dangerous quest to avoid arrest and police torture. A female writer offers a poignant portrayal of the tense situation by stepping inside the mind of an Egyptian man. Her courageous effort at humanizing a taboo subject seems to end in despair, with a confession of cowardice and an individual forced to “turn himself off.”

The screech of tires snapped him back to attention, replacing the thoughts buzzing around his brain with anxious immediacy.  He stared at the driver behind the wheel, her mouth opening and closing so wide her fillings flashed silver at him with every extension.  Her windows were up, rendering her comically mute despite her anger.  He stepped back onto the sidewalk, and went the rest of his way, preventing preoccupation from hampering his respect for the non-existence of traffic laws in Cairo. 

He approached __________, noting with equal amounts of jealousy and fear the men standing around the known gay pick-up spot.  They swaggered, clothes torn and tight in the style come to be associated with male homosexuality.  Their faces attempted rebellious outrage:  courage implied in their plucked eyebrows and slightly rouged cheeks – those visible distinctions between them and “real men”.  And yet he imagined he could detect in them an uncertainty, a trepidation born from knowing that others had been taken away for doing just this on other Mondays, Wednesdays, Anydays.  He imagined he could see in their cocky stances a readiness for flight.

He’d picked this spot knowing that he would be the least conspicuous mark, were it to turn out he’d been tricked all along, cultivating a relationship with a decoy. 

He saw Tarek standing a few meters away, searching for the blue striped shirt he’d been told to look out for.  Never in their online conversations had he given Tareq a picture, preferring safe anonymity to the promise of future intimacy.  He’d not worn his blue-striped shirt, telling himself he didn’t like the way it looked on, and that he could do enough recognition for the both of them.  He held back, trying not to stare at the man he’d been talking to for the past 8 months.  They had planned meetings before – he’d many times approached the date with queasy anticipation, calling it off at the last minute.  A fictitious business trip one time, an imagined death in the family another.  Tareq’s patience had brought him here today.  An informant wouldn’t wait this long, he told himself.  An informant wouldn’t invest in such minute detail for their conversations.

He looked around him once more, suspicious, trying to find ill-will lurking in the faces subjected to his scrutiny.  He cleared his throat, took what he imagined some novels he’d read meant by “a measured breath”.  Sweat trickled into his eye, a burning rivulet of building anxiety he was trying to keep under control.  He turned towards Tareq, preparing for a step, only to be rooted to the spot when their eyes met.  Tareq smiled tentatively, hesitated, and then started forward, perhaps deciding that the physical description traded online so many times matched enough to counter the absence of blue stripes.  He felt panic rising in him…his eyes searched frantically in Tareq’s clothing for tell-tale signs of hidden handcuffs, a gun, something-anything out of the ordinary.  He debated what to do, realizing that he was out of time when Tareq stopped in front of him, smiling shyly.

“Ayman?”

He’d forgotten for a moment that he’d never given his real name – yet another barrier of safety.  He looked frantically around, swerving his head from one potentially menacing figure to the next in the gloom.  He was suddenly screaming, his lungs expelling the nights’ mistrust in hot hysterical denial:

“Ana mesh Ayman!  Ana mesh Ayman!  Eb’ed anni ya khawal!”*

He turned around, not noticing everyone around him likewise fleeing, the disturbance upsetting a confidence made fragile by stories of baton rapes, capture, jail, and ruin rife within the community.  Like a flock of nervous gazelles prepared by evolution for a life of constant victimization, they ran.

He eventually flagged down a cab, in which his ragged breath and frenzied thoughts slowed down to apparent normalcy.  He got home, turned on his computer, and started an email:

“Tareq habibi, sorry I couldn’t make it”.  He paused, searching.  Would Tareq believe that the person met today was someone else?  He decided, just in case, to erect one more barricade against identification.  “One of my patients needed an emergency c-section.  Maybe we can try this again soon?”  An OB-GYN, he mused.  He would read up on it tomorrow, to be able to speak of it with authority when Tareq and he next met online.

He turned his computer off, realizing for the first time how tired he was.  He sat hunched over for a while, thinking about the events of the night.  He looked around his apartment, a testament to how diligently he’d disguised his “criminality” from everyone around him for fear of imprisonment, or worse. 

His apartment, he thought, was very masculine.  He bought furniture only in muted, dark colors, fearing his neighbors (all potential informers) finding his tastes too flamboyant for a man.  Expensively framed prints of female nudes decked his walls, replacing the Playboy and Haifaa Wahbi** posters of his college days.  He had cultivated a gruff rumble of a voice, so different from the soft-spoken stereotype Egypt had of its gays.  He went to the gym religiously, a result of having been called a sissy once by a drunk in the street.  He looked over at his computer, the only vehicle through which his sexuality could find expression – as long as it remained unclaimed by a name, a picture, an address, or any other carelessly overlooked detail.

He wondered at times whether he overreacted, whether what he had to fear was more in his head than a real-life threat.  He was well aware that his paranoia knew no bounds, and yet saw this as a more protective rather than oppressive mechanism.  He knew, despite his wonderings and what-ifs, that his secret must never know another interlocutor.  He thought of the recent Queen Boat incident, a firm reaffirmation of the seriousness of the whole thing.  He thought of the sentences given the young men captured that day, the anal exams forced upon them to prove homosexual conduct, the fraudulent charges of prostitution and drug possession made up that their crime find its prosecution in Egypt’s courts***.  He turned off the lights on his nudes, his brown leather couches, his sports magazines, and made his way to the bedroom.

It was the time when he felt the least alone, laying in the dark as he was now, imagining all of the people such as himself with dreams that will always frustrate by being larger than life.  Sometimes he imagined impossible happy endings for all of those little lives in their little Cairo flats, machinations that changed entire government systems, entire towns, cities, worlds.  He never dared think of one for himself, lest his dreams lead to incautious action.  He had long ago resigned himself to a life of missed connections, of fleeting intimacy.  He wondered for a short moment how he would explain his many fabrications when they at last met, would that entire government systems, towns, cities, worlds change for them.  He rolled over, closed his eyes, and turned himself off.

------------------------------------
*I am not Ayman!  I am not Ayman!  Get away from me you faggot!
**A famous, often scantily-clad singer of Egyptian-Lebanese origin.
***  IFDH.org.  “Queen Boat Case – UN Says Homosexuality No Grounds for Arrest”.  8.13.2002.  Accessed 12.22.2006.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Note: The essays below have been edited into excerpts of the originals.

…For Me to Be a Citizen
M. Elkhadiri, Morocco, Age 20

"This fear that flows in my blood like fish eggs in the deep seawater, how can I dodge it?"
Mohammad Al-Maghoot

It was about three years ago when Nicole, a French girl attending our collective workshop, and I were having a conversation about a number of issues that she told me something I would never forget: "Mohammad, in France we are citizens, while you in Morocco are mere subjects." I was surprised; it was harsh on my ear and humiliating.

I do not recall what my reply was, but ever since that moment I have had a third eye that views things happening in front of me and looks in frustration to the "subjects" of this country. Nicole's saying rings in my mind every time I come across scenes of repression and oppression that deny many people their dignity.

I go past homeless children gathering like cats that dine on scraps that would directly affect on their mental health. They look into the vacuum with weary faces stripped of childish innocence, forming a "decoration" in the street, and they are treated like a trivial accessory disposed of when no longer needed. The word "subjects" rings again in mind.
The police and other instruments of the regime are not public servants for supposed "citizens." The illiteracy of the "subjects" makes such people masters, and when some of them commit a wrongdoing towards those subjects, they are exercising a "normal thing" in humiliating and detesting others.

Students are still being beaten inside campus by security forces every time an incident occurs. The dysfunctional professors receive the same bat beating on their backs whenever they demonstrate before the Parliament. There exists in our hearts an accumulated fear of any shape or suit that evokes figures of authority. Security means fear, and the history of repression is still deep-rooted in the mind, despite the various, albeit deficient, attempts to erase it. All this brings back to mind the word "subjects..."

The media is always being threatened with forced closure and the means of government censorship have become ever more cunning. Trials we thought bygone are now back on the scene with the same old purpose of limiting freedoms, though via different means. The goal, however, remains: to keep the "subject" deficient and submissive as they are and drift them away from thinking.

Fear from unknown things haunts minds; fear from security service members, government officials, public servants, from anybody. There exists fear from expressing anger, publicly demanding things that constitute the basic rights of any "citizen" and were never limited to certain people. The fear policy has been fused into the Moroccan blood; it grows with the individual from birth, at home, school, university, street, larger society, teachers, and others. This fear has been directed by all against all for generations. Although Morocco has been introduced to more freedoms, efforts to bring the subjects' culture into all means of change, even the positive ones, make tearing down the wall of fear impossible.

My deferred dream is to live in a Morocco abounding in justice, where there is no place for fear, and all the aforementioned acts eroded by my countrymen; where I would not be beaten by the police during peaceful demonstrations, to learn dignity. A country where medication and transport perfect my human identity; where my rights and freedom of expression are respected. I wish to be a full citizen, and tell Nicole if I happen to see her: "You are citizens in France, and so are we citizens in Morocco."

Dreams Deferred
M. Khourshed, Egypt , Age 19

In today’s political and social climate, it is unsurprising how much of humanity has suffered from infringement of personal liberties. Certainly, as Arabs we currently face the blunt of such discrepancies. Each Arab state faces its own particular brand of discrimination, however on the whole the experience is united into one large web of encroachment on individual freedom, similar in structure and texture. Individual rights or more specifically civil rights or liberties are important to me because I consider them the fundamental elements of life, without which there would not be real progress and pleasure in living. To me these abstract ideals are the very food of the soul of any society; when countries violate the integrity of these self-true doctrines, then they undermine the very foundation that keeps their society afloat.
           
The realization of the importance of civil liberties has occurred to me from witnessing situations in my life, “news” spots and hearsay. In all cases the importance of personal freedom has been constantly reaffirmed. There has been many times where I was told to be quiet about certain aspects of my political views and tendencies by my family and acquaintances because of the possible repercussions that they may invoke from the institution, whether it is academic or governmental. I remember one of such occasions wherein I stated that Egypt, my country of origin, was not “innocent in any way in regards to human rights for such pride to be taken by the government in its “forward thinking” constitution, at which point I was beseeched to keep my mouth shot and my opinions to myself. I will agree to the point that the constitution could be considered equalizing to some point. I suppose if you compared it to the laws set through the 1800’s it is.

However though the constitution “attempts” to equalize the livelihood of its citizens, it only addresses less than one half of the society. I am speaking of the staggering gender discrimination paramount in the country, obvious through the fact that this year was the first year that a female judge was appointed to sit the bench. This same scenario is on the whole the case with most Arab states presently. I am frankly enraged that the socio-political environment forces me from expressing myself to the fullest degree both verbally and demonstratively, because I am a women and a “child”...           
The repression in the Arab world manifest in so many ways that the concept of improvement must deal with each and every aspect. The most perceptible outcome of discrimination in the Arab world is police brutality. There are probably not many people who could honestly say that they have not witnessed such events. For example my brother recently told me that while walking home from school he saw a policeman randomly pick out a man in his car and then proceeded to publicly humiliate the fellow by slapping him upon his face and neck. Upon further inquiry my brother told me that he simply kept walking because of two reasons, the first - it was very common and the second that he was afraid to intervene and get treated in the same manner...

If a man is slapped in Egypt, or a women intergraded by the police because she is not wearing the customary Nekab, or a black child chosen last by classmates in Jordan, it does not cross many people’s mind that this blatant discrimination must stop, rather they specify that this is the way of nature, “the way things are and always will be.” Alas, There are no doubts these days why so many flee to western countries from personal persecution.

The possibility of a freer more civil rights oriented Middle East, the dream that many have come to believe in and indeed fight for has haunted my every thought. How can we move forward as a people, how can we conquer discriminations and obstacles set to us by other peoples and by the state of affairs if we cannot stop discriminating amongst ourselves? How can we be a force in the world if we do not allow people to express themselves in every possible way and in so doing create a versatile environment where new ideas on how to improve our lives can flourish? How can we blame others for their folly concerning civil liberties, when the same problem is paramount among us? Individual rights are essential because only through their realization can we possibly unite all individuals of the middle east and work upon establishing our community as one of the most progressive and strongest the world has seen to date. 

Where Are My Rights?
N. Dawood, Iraqi living in the UAE, Age 17

I write this essay in Arabic so that I can express myself clearly and plainly, since human rights are among the most important issues of humanity. I shall start with my home country, Iraq.

I opened my eyes to the absence of human rights ever since I was eight, when my divorced mother and I began our "journey." My mother decided to take me with her to a neighboring country in search of better living conditions. Human rights in my home country were completely non-existent, the very phrase not part of our lexicon. Indeed, people might laugh at you if you utter this phrase, as though you were telling a joke...

Such were my mother's conditions for years until she decided to take me and leave. My mother applied for visas to me and herself, but our application was declined because she was divorced and my father, whom I had never seen, had to approve my request to travel. The law was with my father, who had never paid a penny to help raise me up. (Where is the law? Where are human rights?)

My mother did her level best to solve the issue, meeting with officials and submitting all relevant documents that proved it was she who was raising me and that my father was never involved in my upbringing. But those officials insisted that I could not travel without his stamp of approval. They contacted him and the expected took place. He asked, in exchange for his approval, a large amount of money from my mother. When she could not afford that sum, he stuck to his guns. My mother complained again and again, but no one was willing to listen.

Seeking retaliation, my mother went to court and sued my father for the child support funds he had not paid for years. However, the law did not do me justice on the pretext that my father was remarried and so could not afford to support two families. (Where are my rights?)

My mother landed a job in a neighboring country and was obliged to travel soon, and so she left me with my grandmother, who used other means to make my father to at last approve my travel – after I had been away from mother for six months and cried many tears.

My mother and I lived in that neighboring country for six years during which we could not get any of the rights my mother was looking for. She could not continue in a job for more than three or four months because she wanted to avoid the Work Bureau that was hunting Iraqis. If an Iraqi was caught to be working, then he would be jailed, insulted, and deported. The deported would not be allowed back for five years, because he violated the law! (The one who works breaks the law!) (Where are my rights?)

In addition, we had to leave the country every six months and then reentered it in order to be reissued a new temporary residence permit. Therefore, I had to be absent from school for days or weeks before reentering the country and resumed my study for a new six-month period. However, one day we were not allowed back into the country coming from Sudan. They escorted us from the airport to the central prison, and we were subjected to the meanest kinds of provocation and insulation in the way. We were handcuffed and I was crying of the pain caused by the cuffs, but the officer told my mother that if I did not stop crying then he would cuff our legs! They searched us in a mean and disgusting way that I cannot describe, and we remained in custody for 48 hours, next to criminals! (Where are my rights? And what is my fault?)

We were deported to Iraq, and our passports were stamped with red marking as though we were criminals banned from traveling or entering any other country. Our fault was that we wanted a legal status in that country!

...In 2004, my mother decided to move to a Gulf state in order to get a job and legal residence. Indeed, my mother, with her smartness and impressive resume, managed to get a job and legal status. I joined a privately owned school, because I could not joined a free public school since I was an alien. But indeed, I was luckier than other alien children whose parents could not get a residence permit and were obliged to remain illiterate! (Where are human rights?) This is the third Arab country I entered in which I found no full human rights.

...Because of I am an Arab, I could not attend local sports clubs or compete with the Arab citizens of that country. The universities did not offer scholarships or financial assistance, unlike universities abroad. Where, where, where are human rights? Imagine that in this country there were people, called Bidoon, who did not have a national identification card, and so where banned from travel because they could not get passports.

If an alien met another alien and decided to marry, they were banned from conducting civil marriage in that country, and so they had to travel and marry in a country that offered that kind of marriage (even marriage is not allowed in our Arab countries).

If an indigenous female citizen married an alien, her children would be born with no rights as citizens of that country. They would not be given residence permits! (Imagine the extent of injustice that we, the Arab peoples, live with). The bitterest of all these was that the a human's rights to free health care, because if you were not a citizen, or a legal resident with healthcare insurance, then you could not receive healthcare in governmental or otherwise hospitals unless you pay large amounts of money to cover cure and drugs expenses.

The Arab countries do not grant to those who were born and raised in their lands from aliens citizenship, even if the child becomes ten years old. This thing is considered as a crime in the European states and America, for instance in the US, if a child is born on its land, he would be considered a US citizen with full citizenship rights, even if the parents were not American or do not have residence permits. The US government care begins the day that child is born. How unlucky we are who were born on Middle Eastern Arab soil!

The Dreams Are Agonizing
B. Almutairi, Kuwait, Age 25

Al-Qabas Newspaper, 16 May 2006:
Speaker Al-Khurafi Orders Guards to Drive Audience Out ... But Guards Unable Due To Hall Enthusiasm.
Speaker Al-Khurafi Adjourns Session for Half Hour, Asking the Hall Cleared.

Al-Watan Newspaper, 16 May 2006:
"Al-Khurafi Asserts he wasn't inclined to use force and drive the audience out, because these are at the end our sons and daughters."

When I read those excerpts, I relive that day and remember how my friend Ahlam was bitterly crying over my shoulder after we were driven out of the Parliament building, despite the fact that we did not cause the riots that were, in fact, instigated by some others. Everything started and ended so swiftly that it seemed like a nightmare, and my friend still asks me why the situation still haunts me, not knowing that when pain reaches to its highest degree gets into a condition of semi-numbing that is scientifically labeled "shock."

That day I wanted to scream and shout, but screaming is not a civilized way of expression, and so we resorted to journalists in search for some relief to express the amount of insult that we underwent. However, we were disappointed, because press seemed no better than us in stripped freedom since it is entangled with numerous invisible red lines and unwritten laws. The government has lately imposed on journalists yet another "sword at their necks" with the ratification of the new publications law that allows imprisoning writers and journalists in an attempt to narrow the circles of liberty and cram them in one single, insignificant ring.

Our story started when we began to hear about the corrupted members of parliament, whom the media presented as "innocent angels" in our country, given that most debate about their corruption is not covered by the press or made public. Paradoxically, we relate among ourselves the stories of corruption, but we are definite that they are the people who run the show: if you need a job, then you would need the mediation of an MP; if you need the government to send you abroad to receive medication that is not available in Kuwait, then you would resort to an MP to get you out, even if you are not ill. More, if you are a college student, then you might want to vote for that nominee so that the failing grade turns into a successful one! Have not we said that they have the magic touch to solve all problems—problems that they themselves have been creating over years: they do not want to improve efficient medical, educational, or employment systems so that we would always need them. If everything becomes on the right track, then what would they drop the crocodile's tears on? And what would they be screaming about to prove their heroism and defense of the oppressed?

After being frustrated talking about corruption of MPs, we reached to the conclusion that gradual solutions would work best for solving the issue of corruption, and that minimizing constituencies was the first solution in order to minimize the winning of some nominees by widening the constituency and bring together the categorized groups of the Kuwaiti people, i.e. Sunnis, Shiites, city dwellers, Bedouins—a step that would make loyalty first and foremost to the country.

That was the one and only goal of our youth campaign that was faced with ferocious attacks and accusations that we were puppets moved and played by a political group that we in fact did not know! The second accusation was more offensive, that we were spoiled, unoccupied kids who wanted to pour rage on them. Yes, we were! We were looking for redrawing the country that we the youth constitute 65% of its population. We were looking for a country that would guarantee for us freedom of expression without being mislead through political mazes that they label the way they would.

Freedom of expression is by no means lesser than freedom of choice, and we want to choose. But it seems that freedom of expression and opinion is nonexistent in Kuwait. In the last elections, women were allowed to vote for the first time, and it was the first time that I came to sense my importance in the family when my brother asked me to vote for a nominee because he was a member of our tribe, without explaining to me that man's qualifications except that his last name matched ours! My uncle did that same thing, asking me to vote for another nominee without explaining why as well. All of a sudden, I became important! They did not even try to convince me why I should vote the nominees, as though I did not have a mind as they did. They were trying to prove their point through debating politics and ask me to take part in the debate, usurping the fact that women entered the political arena recently and so had no clue about the political concepts or terminology since women had not learnt them in school, college, or even not through the media which had not tried to simplify the political jargon.

It seemed that as if our lack of this knowledge was thought to be in others best interests so that we would not formulate an opinion that would stand contrary to one of theirs. Therefore, being not convinced, I decided to go to the polling station, but voted for nobody: I cast a clear, white ballot, because I believe in cleanliness, given that it is next to godliness!

Everybody is scared from freedom of expression, because it might mean thrusting criticism that would lead a human being to be excluded from society. We do not want just one pan of the scale (freedom of expression), but also the other pan, which is discussion and belief in the importance of the other's opinion. Unfortunately, in my country if your opinion is different from those of the majority, then you would be excluded, and this is exactly what my mother fears and that is why she often sneaks to my room to tear the political notes and articles (which merely document the current events) and reproaches me because she thinks they criticize people that we might need one day (i.e. the "innocent angels").

When I try to explain that these are just my opinions, she goes furious saying that I am being fed the best food, dressed the best clothes, and so what would I want more? I answer, "I want you to give my mind that God has bestowed on me, distinguishing me from animals, the freedom to explore, it will not offend national security, it will not offend morality and ethics, but it wants to participate in reforming a country that we the youth draw as we have been dreaming. We are fed up with the slogans and the human dinosaurs that clasp the leading seats in this country and are afraid of the youth mind and voice that they envisage as a criminal who wants to kill the country and so they fight it with all means."

This is not only my position. We were four friends at college and were always, despite our different sects and affiliations, discussing the events undergoing in country and what we should do to bring about reformation. However, the frustrations that we went through had destroyed most of our dreams, since of the girls got married and began to avoid talking politics with us because her husband believed politics is not for women (although the word "politics" is, in Arabic, a feminine word). Our other friend quitted after she grew so frustrated with the possibility of bringing reformation after we volunteered during the summer vacation into an NGO, only to find that it had no useful goals and also raised the same empty slogans, while the human dinosaurs lead such NGOs that offer nothing to the society.

Therefore, I am left with my other friend Ahlam (her name means "dreams") fancy dreams for our country where youth would have a role in fulfilling. I write these lines while packing my luggage to travel to the US to pursue my higher study, or to forget what has happened. Although my mother always says that dreams should not always be realized, I am relieved that it is a dream that we have been fancying and tried hard to realize. If we could not realize the dream, then it is satisfactory that we started drawing it, in the hope that others would concretize it, being our "dream deferred."