A Palestinian
Woman in the
West
By Ghada Carmi
I
t is not easy to be a
woman anywhere. It
is even less easy being
a Palestinian woman,
whether under occupation
or, as in my case, living in the West. I
went to Britain when I was a child,
having been forced out of my
birthplace, Jerusalem, during the 1948
war. For many years, I didn't see
myself either as a Palestinian or as a
woman. This is not as odd as it
sounds. Being a Palestinian in Britain
at the time in which I was growing up
meant that one was invisible. In the
1950s, none of the English people I
came across could remember that once
- and not long ago - there had been
such a place as Palestine. When
people asked me where I came from
and I said, “Palestine”, they usually
asked, “Do you mean Pakistan?” No
one seemed to care let alone know the
plight of Palestinian refugees.
After years of enduring this
atmosphere, I found myself resigned
and disheartened. It became easier to
ignore the bitter memories and anger
rather than challenge a society, which
seemed to have made up its mind
about what happened in 1948. Up to
the 1960s, there was no Palestinian
activism of any kind in Britain. The
1967 war changed all that and forced
me to regain my sense of Palestinian
identity. Over the next few years, I
evolved into a vigorous activist for
the Palestinian cause, which I have
remained to this day.
For years, being a woman came second
to that sense of political mission. My
gender identity had anyway been
suborned by my father's
influence.Like many Palestinian parents,
he held that a good education for his
children was above everything. My
sister and I must learn 'portable' skills,
so that if we were ever expelled again,
we could take them with us and survive.
Hence I became a doctor and she a
chemist. There was no time for men and
romance in this important work, said
my father. He discouraged all would-be
suitors and said his daughters were not
for marriage until after their graduation.
I used to imagine these suitors, hearing
him, would run a mile rather than face
two boring blue stockings like us, and
that our education would make us so
brainy that no man would look at us again.
We started to resent this downgrading
of our femininity, which threatened to
make us into pseudo-men. But of course,
I know now that it was just another
consequence of being Palestinian. In the
struggle for survival, priorities change
and none of the old assumptions apply
any more. Had we been left to live in
peace in our own society, my father
would doubtless have welcomed the
prospect of our marrying good men and
giving him grandchildren. But we were
the first generation in exile and had to forgo
such 'luxuries' as my parents saw them.
Throughout my life, a number of key
figures such as Hanan Ashrawi have
shown that being a Palestinian woman
is not a burden, but a mark of
distinction. In just a few years, she
came to project the Palestinian narrative
in the West more effectively than
decades of effort by her masculine
counterparts. Today, Palestinian
President Mahmoud Abbas' press
office rDiana Buttuis in the same mould
with a proficiency in presenting the
Palestinian case. As women acquire
more political prominence in Western
countries, this trend is set to continue
and Palestinian women must be
empowered to take their rightful place.
Working in Ramallah for the
firsttimelastsummer, I saw another
dimension: how Palestinian women are
shaping the future of Palestine on the
ground. Young and old, they strive in a
myriad of ways to build a society and a
state. This is the more admirabl
e because, unlike men, they also have to
fightagainst patriarchal attitudes that
would restrict them. Only when we
Palestinians understand that women are
the indispensable half of a common
struggle, and must be empowered, will
we realise our full potential.
Dr. Ghada Karmi is a Palestinian writer and
academic.
