The Little Prisoner and Child Abuse
Of all the books our book club read this year, The Little Prisoner by Jane Elliott (not her real name) was the most troublesome. The first one to finish said it was boring and repetitive. The second refused to read it at all, that the content would have images that would polute her mind. Both were right, and at the same time, if we refuse to look at what troubles us, we collude with the abuser.
I hate bullying. A man who beats and plays sexual games with a child is a bully and worse – he is a betrayer of trust. Children come into the world pure, clean slates. They can create their own mischief, their own evil, but to be corrupted by an adult – that is the absolute worst sin.
Today’s Gospel reading in The Lectionary is about this very behavior – that betrayal and/or corruption of a child is a huge sin against God:
Matthew 18:1-14
18 At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ 2 He called a child, whom he put among them, 3 and said, ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.
6 ‘If any of you put a stumbling-block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7 Woe to the world because of stumbling-blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling-block comes!
8 ‘If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than to have two hands or two feet and to be thrown into the eternal fire. 9 And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into the hell* of fire.
10 ‘Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.* 12 What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? 13 And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. 14 So it is not the will of your* Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.
The book was, in one sense, an easy read. It only took about three hours to read it. It was, as the first reader said, repetitive, but then once a bully has found a victim, the behavior does tend to be repetitive, and, as in the book, it also escalates.
The victim’s father bullied her, and he abused her sexually from the time she was four until she was seventeen. He terrorized his wife and other children, and he terrorized the neighborhood with his violence and threats of violence. To this day, the author and her family live far away, and fears her step-father finding out where she is.
I found the writer unlikeable. I wanted to feel more compassion for her than I did. I think part of my problem was that she stayed in the situation even into her teens, even into early adulthood, without seeming to rebel, without taking any steps to get herself out of the situation. She tells us straight away that she has personality defects, troubles with trust and betrayal, and that she sometimes turns to drink. A part of me knows that people who have been systematically abused over a long time can lose that ability to resist, rebel, to ask for help, but another part of me can’t understand it at all. A part of me is impatient with her weakness, I want her to stand on her feet and make her life a testament to her survival, I want her success in overcoming her childhood to be the sweetest kind of revenge. Unfortunately, life is more complicated than that, and her murky ending is probably the more realistic. Abuse leaves lasting damage.
The Little Prisoner is not an easy read in terms of content. There were times I felt she exaggerated to sell the book; to make hers just a little more interesting than the other ones out there with which her book is competing. There is a part of me that would prefer not to see, not to have those images in my mind.
We know, from all the literature, that children who are abused can grow up to be abusers. I have had friends who were abused who refused to have children at all, afraid they would perpetuate the behavior, even though they had a horror of the violence, and were gentle and peaceful people. How do we intervene, how do we break the chain of abusers begetting abusers? How do we change the behaviors? Can abusers really change?
The Little Prisoner brings up a whole host of uncomfortable questions. We can read, we can discuss – but if we choose to look the other way, aren’t we in a small way colluding with the abusers, allowing them to continue while we look the other way?
Enmegahbowh
Yesterday, one of the songs we sang was an oldie but goodie, To Be a Pilgrim, written by John Bunyan, who wrote Pilgrim’s Progress while serving a jail term for preaching without a license. We sang the old fashioned version:
Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather
There’s no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent
To be a pilgrim.
Whoso beset him round
With dismal stories
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
He’ll with a giant fight,
He will have a right
To be a pilgrim.
Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can daunt his spirit,
He knows he at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He’ll fear not what men say,
He’ll labor night and day
To be a pilgrim.
(Actually, I may have drifted off because I don’t remember singing the part about the hobgoblins or foul fiends . . . or maybe we sang a slightly more updated version . . .)
Yesterday’s reading in The Lectionary had a great prayer, which also included the word “pilgrim:
Almighty God, thou didst lead thy pilgrim people of old with fire and cloud; grant that the ministers of thy church, following the example of blessed Enmegahbowh, may stand before thy holy people, leading them with fiery zeal and gentle humility. This we ask through Jesus, the Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen.
And it had this wonderful story of an American Saint, Enmegahbowh – A saint from the original inhabitants of our country:
ENMEGAHBOWH
PRIEST AND MISSIONARY (12 JUNE 1902)
[James Kiefer has no bio for Enmegahbowh. Below is a biography from A Pioneer History of Becker County Minnesota by Alvin H. Wilcox (1907). Enmegabowh was the first Indian ordained in the Episcopal Church.]
In 1851, the Rev. Dr. Breck, a great missionary, whose name must be known to every reader of the “Soldier,” [“Christian Soldier”] began a mission at Leech Lake, among the Ojibwa Indians of Minnesota. This mission, from various circumstances, had only a partial success, and in the winter of 1855-56 troubles with the government agents roused the Indians to such madness that Dr. Breck was forced to leave, and the mission buildings were burned.
Two years later the Rev. Mr. Peake went to Crow Wing to establish another mission, and young Indian deacon, John Johnson, his Indian name Enmegahbowh, came to assist him. This man had beeen a catechumen under Dr. Breck, and had been baptized by him. He must have been born to some position in his tribe, as he had been set apart for a “Medicine Man” in youth, and his Indian name, Enmegahbowh, meant “The man who stands by his people,” a significant name, which in time proved to be a true one.
In 1861 Mr. Peake resigned the mission into the hands of Enmegahbowh. Crow Wing was then a settlement of very bad repute on the frontier. In 1862, the year of the Sioux outbreak, Hole-in-the-day, a leading Ojibwa chief, a bad man, full of craft and cunning, collected five hundred warriors, and prepared for a general massacre of the white people. Enmegahbowh, having prevented, by his influence, some other bands from joining these, was made a prisoner, but succeeded in escaping, and, through the midst of great perils, made his way to Fort Ripley, and by his timely information, such measures were taken that bloodshed and a more fearful massacre than that of the Sioux were prevented.
For a few years the mission work seemed at a stand still. From Canada Enmegahbowh received earnest invitations to go where comfort and hopeful work awaited him, but Bishop Whipple encouraged him, standing in the forefront for an unpopular cause and a hated people, and Enmegahbowh would prove the fitness of his name — he would not desert his people.
At last the government made new arrangements, and seven hundred Ojibwa were moved to what is called the White Earth Reservation, a tract thirty-six miles square in northern Minnesota. Of these seven hundred about one hundred and fifty were French half-breeds, or Roman Catholics. Amongst the remainder Enmegahbowh labored earnestly, the government now aiding in the work by encouraging the Indians in civilized ways. A steam sawmill was built at White Earth Lake, where Indians were taught to run the machinery, and from which lumber was furnished for building purposes. Eastern churchmen assisted the mission, and a church and parsonage were built.
At the time of the consecration of the church in August, 1872, quite a party of the clergy and laity, through the kindness of Bishop Whipple, were enabled to visit White Earth.
The consecration was on Thursday. Friday morning, the chiefs signified to the bishop their wish to meet with him in a council, which was therefore held, that afternoon, on the hillside in front of the church. It was a picturesque scene — the lovely landscape, the sunlight glancing through the tall oak trees on the bishop and Enmegahbowh, who sat in the centre, the chiefs and five or six clergymen grouped around. Behind the bishop three chairs were placed for the ladies of the party — the first time, I think, that ladies were ever admitted to an Indian council.
The chiefs spoke in turn, as they had themselves arranged, and were interpreted by Enmegahbowh. — Christian Soldier.
The Rev. John Johnson was born in Canada and died at White Earth on the 12th of June, 1902, at the age of 95 years.
God had someone in mind who was already set aside by his people to serve him, and he had the most wonderful name for a priest – The one who stands by his people. How cool is that? His heart was ready, when he heard the words, and he served mightily.
Baking Cookies for Palestine
When I was just starting out my own life, I had an idea what kind of life I wanted, but I had no clue how to get it. When AdventureMan and I met, we had the same vision, it was so cool, so unbelievable. We married, and this amazing life has unfolded.
Not everyone is born to move. You have to be good at change. Change can be daunting. Some people are better at staying in one place, sinking deep roots, developing lifetime relationships. Some people – like AdventureMan and me – have a need for stimulation, and we get it by changing locations. We feel so blessed.
It is always painful leaving the place we have been living, pulling up roots is just plain painful. The transplantation process takes time for the organism to adjust, for new roots to develop and take hold. Sometimes, the plant fails. In our case, we have had our failures to thrive, but for the most part, every move has helped us to learn and grow in new ways. We feel truly blessed; we have the lives we were born to lead.
Arriving back in Doha, I called my good friend. We have never lost touch, with e-mail and visits we have stayed in contact, and now I am calling her so she has my new number in Doha.
“You must come Tuesday morning!” she enthused, “We are baking cookies for Palestine!”
This wonderful woman was my teacher for reading and writing Arabic, and she did a great job. I read and write about as well as a five-year-old, but I can sound out words, and can write my name. Best of all, I adored this teacher, and when she called and asked me if there was something I could teach her daughters during the long hot Doha summer, I said “yes” and a new adventure began.
One of the things that happened is that I learned I never really knew what the day might bring. Getting to know her, her daughters, and her family better, I learned now ignorant I am of how totally differently others live their lives and see the world. I was learning all the time, and most of it was from the daughters. On one occasion, the daughters called me at 6 in the morning – they are never up at six! They asked if I would take them to the hospital to see their mother, and I sleepily said “Yes, of course,” and asked what time they wanted to go.
“Now!” they replied, joyfully, for this was a birth.
My sweet daughter-in-law was visiting, with our son, and so the two of us rushed over to pick up the girls, who came loaded with carafes loaded with coffee, boxes of finjan (tiny Arabic coffee cups) and sweets, loading up the car with goods and joyful laughter. When we got to the hospital, we had a quick visit with the Mom and then – the guests started arriving.
First – the room. Our friend was in a king sized bed, surrounded by lush curtains which could be pulled. She had a marble floor and a marble private bathroom with private shower, and a small dressing room. There was a visiting area with velvet covered seating for around 16 people, and mahogany paneling everywhere. This is the poshest maternity ward I have ever seen.
Many of the guests were stopping on their way to work. “When you visit someone in the hospital,” the girls informed me, “a thousand angels pray for you, for having made this visit.” These visits are de rigueur, an absolute must. We were there an hour, a constant stream of women came and went, staying around ten minutes, each receiving a small coffee. Then, the girls told us we could go, that they would stay to take care of serving the coffee and sweets.
The entire episode, we never had one clue as to what we were doing, or what was going to happen next. I learned just to go with whatever was happening, stay quiet, watch and learn. Sometimes, I ask questions, if there is a quiet moment.
So when my friend says come bake cookies, I go. I remember when she first baked her first cookie; she called me to come. She didn’t have a mother, growing up, and there were gaps – like how to bake cookies. We spent a morning learning how to make mamool, and it took me three days to get the smell of butter out of my hands. It was so much fun.
As I entered the workroom twenty pair of eyes looked up at me. Everyone was neatly dressed in aprons and headscarves, but my friend wasn’t there! I found my friend, we exchanged greetings, and she came to workroom to get me started. I had my own apron with me, and they provided me with a headscarf; we all looked a lot alike, little baker women. As a beginner, I got to put out the dough, later put the date paste on each piece of dough, later roll the dough around the date paste and put a hole in the top.
Most of the women, vastly more experienced than I, were using little tweezer tools to crimp the dough into the fabulous tiny ridges you can see in the photo. My friend explained that one of the women’s husbands had made the special tools for making the holes in the dough, and the table for them to use packing up the cookies and wrapping them, another had provided a portable oven for baking the cookies, another donated semolina (the flour) and another the dates.
Working once a week, making these beautiful cookies, (biscuits, if you are British trained) the women have built two wells in Palestine, and are currently building a bakery. They took their grief and outrage over Al Raza and turned it into the most amazing effort for good. They feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, they clothe the poor, they take care of families whose men are imprisoned.
“You must come back!” one woman says as I am heading out the door. “You are a good worker!”
I wouldn’t miss it for the world. 🙂
Joy in Kuwait
You might think it is the inner feminist in me that is rejoicing, and you would be only half right. The Kuwait elections brought me a lot of joy, for many reasons. First, as an equal opportunity woman, you need to know that I believe women are every bit as capable of veniality and stupidity as men, and that not being in power has only meant not having equal opportunity to abuse that power. And then – you take a look at the women who were elected – smart women. Capable women! Not-your-shy-shrinking-violet kind of women! Women who know how to organize, how to delegate, and how to discuss and resolve differences.
FOUR women! Four highly educated women, who inspired droves of supporters not only to vote – but also to campaign.
Across the board, it struck me as a very sober election. It was as if people thought this might be their last chance, and they took their vote very very seriously. In the fifth district, voters crossed tribal lines, broke with rigid alliances.
Here are three conversations that caused me to rejoice.
On election day, my good Kuwaiti friend, a guy about the same age as AdventureMan and I, leaned over and said “My dear, today I voted for a Shiite woman! This is Kuwait! This is the REAL Kuwait, where no-one ever cared, Shiite or Sunni, no-one ever asked, we all worked together. I voted for her because I thought she was the best candidate.”
He’s been educating me on Kuwait ever since we got here. He grew up about a block from the big food court down at Mubarakiyya. I was just glad to know he had voted – he had seemed so dejected, so hopeless after the last election, I wasn’t sure he would even give it one more try. Something inspired him. Something gave him the courage to hope just one more time.
I talked with a young friend who was active in the campaign of a winning candidate. Well, really mostly SHE talked, and I just listened with a big grin on my face. It doesn’t even matter who she campaigned for, this woman was PUMPED! She had committed, she had engaged, she was on the phones and on the campaign lines and her candidate won! I could hear the transformation in her voice – this is the Kuwait of tomorrow.
At an earlier time, she had told me that the decisions were all made by “elderly” people (meaning people over 40, I think, people like me!) and that young people were getting discouraged, waiting for their turn. All that was gone, as I listened to her voice. She knows she can make a difference NOW in Kuwait. I could not stop grinning. I think she is one of the leaders of tomorrow. 🙂
My third Kuwaiti friend said to me “so many of the winners were from good families, but not the big, rich families! This is the first time!” and she said it with sheer amazement. She said “I think we may be on our way to a true democracy!” I was shocked. I never thought I would hear those words, not after the cynicism and discouragement apparent during the last legislature, when many Kuwaits awoke with a shock to the fact that their legislature had been hijacked, their voices stolen. “This is not the real Kuwait” they kept assuring me after the last election, as they watched in shock and horror as the newly elected MP’s postured and promised and promised “grillings” but did nothing for the population who had elected them in terms of basics – housing, roads, electricity/energy, or groundwork for future development.
My joy is in the renewal of their spirit. It’s not my election. But oh, I dance with joy for your joy, Kuwait, and I celebrate your commitment to the future.
PS For our non-Kuwaiti readers – early in the election campaigns, one party announced a religious fatwa (edict) saying that it was forbidden to vote for women. I think it outraged people badly enough to create a huge backlash.
Susan Wittig Albert: Nightshade
In her ongoing China Bayles mystery series, China and her husband investigate the death of China’s father, with some amazing outcomes.
These are not heavy reading. This series features a burned-out criminal defense lawyer, who, sick of the slime and the jockying for power and position, cashes in her retirement plans and buys a shop in the small fictional town of Pecan Springs, Texas, where she opens an herbal shop, Thyme and Seasons, which sells live potted herbs, but also herbal wreaths, herbal soaps, herbal bath bombs, herbal teas, herbal shampoos, etc – and shares space with a new age shop called The Crystal Cave, a tea shop called Thyme for Tea, a catering company called Party Thyme and a personal chef service called Thymely Gourmet. She and her girlfriends have a lot of fun.
And, somehow, even in this idyllic life, mysteries seek out China, and she is often involved in crime-solving outside of her normal business. This time, her brother – the brother she never knew she had, the brother her father had with his secretary while China was growing up, wondering where her father was all the time – is murdered, in what appears to be a hit-and-run accident, but is no accident at all. Her brother was trying to get China involved with finding out how and why their father died – another apparent accident, which was no accident. When China isn’t interested (she is still very angry with her dad for what she perceives as a betrayal of her and her mother), her brother hires China’s husband as a private detective to examine the evidence. Then – her brother is killed. China gets involved.
It’s great escape reading, but you often end up learning something, too. China is an idealist, fighting crime and corruption, and God knows, there is enough of that, all the world around, to keep a legion of fictional crime fighters busy.
“After I grew up and joined the Houston legal fraternity, I began to understand what was common knowledge in that gossip-driven oil company town: Robert Bayles and his partner Ted Stone had built their legal practice on dubious oil and energy deals, questionable land transactions, and political dirty work. Their clients included polluters, looters and influence peddlers. Both Ted Stone and my father were frequent guests of the Suite 8F crowd, the group of influential conservatives who met on the eighth floor of Houston’s Lamar Hotel and collectively decided who was going to run for what political office, at the state level and beyond. To ensure that their picks – LBJ had been one of them – made it to the winner’s circle, Suite 8F slipped wads of campaign cash into the necessary pockets. Their contributions decided which politicians moved into positions of power and influence.
Just as important, their money brought them preferential treatment when the bidding opened on lucrative government contracts for dams, ships and shipyards, oil pipelines, military bases at home and abroad, NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston. The Lamar Hotel was demolished in 1983 to make room for a skyscraper, but the political influence of 8F lingers like a foul odor, a dirty fog. It’s the subject of books, of doctoral dissertations, of documentaries. It’s common knowledge.”
Reading Albert is a great escape. Even knowing that sweet little Pecan Springs is a microcosm of the rest of the world, not untouched by human frailty, it is a sweet place with a culture all its own. China’s life, surrounded by her loving husband, her stepson, all their pets, their friends, the places they eat, it’s all comfortable, an herbal scented different world.
Intlxpatr wins Mother of the Year Award
I didn’t even know until several of my friends told me about my special award. See it here:
(I don’t seem to be able to get it to work as a hyper-link, so if you want to see my special award, you will need to copy and paste.)
Wives, be subject to your husbands
This part of today’s reading, among my set and the things we discuss, is one of the most controversial. We can debate this for hours.
What does being subject mean? If we, as wives, are subject to our husband, just as our husbands are subject to God, does it mean we can’t argue? We can’t disagree?
I saw a husband say to a wife the other day “I forbid you.” I think this is more common in Gulf culture than in our culture. I am sorry, but the thought of a husband daring to say this to a wife in the west is unthinkable. What I have also noticed is that when a husband says “I forbid you” here, it is not the end, but the opening skirmish. 🙂
There is a lot of food for thought in this reading, and I publish it to give you insight into what we read, and because I suspect you have similar readings.
Colossians 3:18-4:18
18 Wives, be subject to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. 19Husbands, love your wives and never treat them harshly.
20 Children, obey your parents in everything, for this is your acceptable duty in the Lord. 21Fathers, do not provoke your children, or they may lose heart. 22Slaves, obey your earthly masters* in everything, not only while being watched and in order to please them, but wholeheartedly, fearing the Lord.* 23Whatever your task, put yourselves into it, as done for the Lord and not for your masters,* 24since you know that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward; you serve* the Lord Christ. 25For the wrongdoer will be paid back for whatever wrong has been done, and there is no partiality. 41Masters, treat your slaves justly and fairly, for you know that you also have a Master in heaven.
2 Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. 3At the same time pray for us as well that God will open to us a door for the word, that we may declare the mystery of Christ, for which I am in prison, 4so that I may reveal it clearly, as I should.
5 Conduct yourselves wisely towards outsiders, making the most of the time.* 6Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.
Amazing Day
Yesterday turned out to be one of those days that surprise you. I didn’t have a lot of hope for the day, I started off feeling negative and thinking about cancelling appointments. My head has been a little stuffy, I have a mild cough, altogether, I am not in peak form.
I decided to keep my appointments, which required preparation, and the prep turned out better than I had expected. In fact, the entire day was full of unexpected blessings.
First – I know not all of Kuwait experienced it, but the storm! Lightning! Rain! Rain in late late April! Whoda thunk?
Then, the light – drama drama drama – dark dark clouds, but sunlight on the white-capped water, bringing out all the shades from turquoise through jade and lapiz into deep purple – oh, what joy! Last but not least, the wonderful breeze that kept everything from being hot and sticky – what a day! What I might have missed!
Rola Dashti Tackles Sensitive Issues
“Why are you looking so sad?” AdventureMan asked me as we sat down to dinner.
(Sigh) “There are people in Kuwait who don’t believe change is possible, and there is a movement afoot to WITHHOLD their votes as a protest.”
“Why do you care? It’s not your country?”
We call it “falling on your sword,” when a person does something fatal to self, to career, to family or to country, choosing an issue and staking everything on it. Rarely does it pay. The world moves on, life goes on and you are left behind bleeding on your sword.
Withholding your vote gives more power to those who are good at stirring up the rabble with irrational and selfish issues. Those who get the votes are those who make grandiose – and general – promises, those who refuse to be held accountable.
If you are a person who cares deeply about Kuwait – Please, do not withhold your vote. Do the hard work of listening to the candidates, and exploring their reputations for truthfulness and accountability. Think beyond your own needs, think of the greater good of Kuwait.
This is from today’s Al Watan; a candidate tackling some very sensitive issues, bringing them out in the open.
Ghenwah Jabouri
Staff Writer Al Watan
KUWAIT: In pursuit of winning enough ballots to secure a seat in the National Assembly, Dr. Rola Dashti, who is believed to be a potential woman candidate, delivered an emotive speech Monday evening to announce her parliamentary agenda if elected.
Dashti touched on sensitive and delicate issues which aroused the emotions of the audience, resulting in heated engagements later on in the evening.
Dashti mainly focused on family related issues, germane to women issues.
In an attempt to recoup the cynicism manifested by citizens toward parliament, Dashti urged the audience to not ponder on who is wrong or right.
“We need to move on; seeking to blame parliament, government, MPs, etc., is not going to serve us justice. We need to focus on developing Kuwait, rather then pointing our fingers at the wrongdoers, ” Dashti said.
She stressed that whether it was the parliament, the government, or the citizenship who committed the mistakes is not important; “what is important is that we learn from such mistakes.
“Individuals who have the cultural habituate of blaming, attacking and are cynical, do not want to move toward the future; rather, they want to travel back in time. Allow me to give you an example: last year, thirty percent of citizens in my constituency did not cast their ballot. These people are like you and me: their heart is burning for Kuwait, and they observed nothing positive, and they are in immense suffering.
“They gave up on hope and decided to ultimately not vote. Had half of them voted (nine thousand), ten people who would have succeeded in the Third Constituency elections would have determined a better fate for those that abstained from voting.” She further lamented that society should consider first and foremost Kuwait, and that the children, the youth and coming generations “deserve this.”
Dashti, further illustrating her point, noted: “For example, if soـandـsoـperson does not vote, who is going to protect their rights and so forth?”
Dashti stressed that Kuwait is experiencing “tumultuous times” and that the country is on the verge of a major collapse.
“Kuwait cannot afford political arguments and political confrontations and commotions. It is in our hands to save Kuwait. If we take responsibility, vote and call on those who did not vote to cast their ballot, change might have a chance of survival.
“Hundreds of people did not cast their votes because they lost their confidence in parliament. However, many families are suffering, and so, it is pivotal to acquire each and every vote; we need to give back what Kuwait bestowed us with.
“We need to give a little back to those who lost their lives to protect Kuwait during the Iraqi invasion in 1990; many people lost their lives during the invasion who fought for our liberty. Women were raped and families were torn apart. We need to give back a little, we need to continue to believe, and fight for our children and future generations,” Dashti added.
“Does Kuwait not deserve for us to stand in the cue for fifteen minutes to cast our votes?”
Talking more about women”s issues, Dashti noted that there are many things that need to be considered where women’s issues are concerned.
“Women have many burdens that they shoulder; the divorced, the widowed, the one who is married to an expatriate, and housing for women, all are issues the Kuwaiti woman suffers from.”
She pointed out that not every family is living happily, “although this is something I would love to achieve.
“Today, the Kuwaiti family has to wait fifteen years for (government) housing. Where will the divorced woman go during this lengthy period?
“This woman could be my sister, my mother, or our daughter; where does she go?”
Dashti noted that the law stipulates that a woman who is over forty years of age and both of whose father and mother are deceased and is unassisted by a guardian “is entitled to receive a housing allowance.”
“However,” Dashti said challenging the law, “what about other women in a somewhat parallel situation where the father is deceased but is not receiving allowance from her guardian ـ what can she do? Shall the woman take her guardian to court to sue him?
“Why does the law in pursuit of helping women insist on punishing them, even insulting her?
“This law is one of many that are flawed and need to be amended,” Dashti stressed.
She further said that “neither Kuwait or the people of Kuwait can tolerate empty words and useless slogans. Today we need to put many things on the table and take action in tackling them.
“Let”s now have a look at the children of some Kuwaiti women who are married to expatriates: we need to look at their educational, health, and employment and social needs and treat them with justice, like other children are treated who have Kuwaiti fathers.
“This is their country, why are we abusing them? These are our cousins, our brothers and sisters, and have to be treated with equality when their mother is a citizen of the country.”
She further added that citizens have been “fooled” enough; “vote for someone who knows what they can do, someone who can save us from the financial burden.” Touching on an issue that has become central in campaigns, Dashti noted, “We should not allow people who do not understand finance to tamper with the budget.
“Nor should we allow individuals who are responsible in dealing with the financial budget to use the financial budget for personal gains.”
“Why should we follow those who damage our financial budget, and steal the money of the public? There is another option: choose someone who will protect the public financial budget and enhance the budget!”
Dashti further stated that there is an “internal bleeding” in the country and that she is not going to offer an “aspirin to silence your pain to only kill you” as a member of parliament.
“I will opt for a long term alternative and choose to cure you.”
During the question and answer session following her address, particularly passionate but enraged voices emerged, where some expressed their frustration with the old faces of parliament.
One woman said she was “fed up with the old faces and that it is about time new faces took over.”
She further said, “We have been deceived, fooled and cheated by the old MPs,” and stressed, “We are suffering and are in desperate need of MPs who will promote social and financial justice.
“Kuwait has hit a plateau and something”s got to give,” she noted.
Another woman made a remark about Dashti”s strong foreign accent.
She noted: “Society often criticizes you (Dashti) for speaking in a Lebanese accent.
“I don”t understand why you come under scrutiny for such a reason. After all, people have television at home and typically watch the satellite channels, all of which speak in foreign accents.”
The woman”s comment was understood to be a positive comment, where she welcomed Dashti”s candidacy and believes that the candidate will be a forceful vehicle towards righteous deeds toward society.
Another frustrated woman spoke about property and about people whose houses was taken from them by the banks. She said that she read an article in Al Watan newspaper that there are many withdrawn properties and houses for sale.
“The inheritors are crying blood and are traumatic, because their houses are being taken from them. Other citizens are staying in small apartments after they used to occupy villas,” she said.
Another woman who was virtually in tears pled to the people “to opt for change and choose new faces, even if the new members of parliament will do nothing.
“The former parliament has tormented and killed me; please, give your votes to new faces, in the name of God, please, vote for change.”
“Let Her Get Fat” in Saudi Arabia
Sometimes, either you laugh, or you’re going to cry. This is from BBC News: Saudi Arabia
Saudis clamp down on women’s gyms
Saudi women are largely constrained to the home and single-sex environments
Many women-only sports clubs and gyms in Saudi Arabia face closure under a government clampdown on unlicensed premises, Saudi media have reported.
Women’s gyms have become popular in the ultra-conservative Muslim country where the sexes are heavily segregated.
But only clubs linked to medical groups can get licenses and others will be closed, the Arab News newspaper said.
Saudi women were reported to have launched an online campaign in protest called Let Her Get Fat.
Government departments are not allowed to issue licenses for commercial gyms and sports clubs for women, unlike facilities for men, the newspaper reported.
It quoted club manager Bader al-Shibani, who tried to open a women’s sports club along with the one he runs for men in Jeddah.
“I ran into a stone wall at every turn. Every department I visited denied that they had the authority to give permission to establish a women’s club,” he said.
Many clubs are registered as beauty salons, and offer fitness facilities and even exercise classes in addition, the newspaper said.
A spokesman for the Ministry of Municipal and Rural Affairs told the newspaper that commercial clubs do not have registration for the provision of sport and health services.
“It’s clear that one department is now taking the decision to put an end to the increasing number of unlicensed clubs,” lawyer and community activist Abdulaziz al-Qasim told Arab News.
A group of women launched an internet campaign in protest against the move, saying facilities linked to medical clinics were too expensive, and their health would suffer as a result of the closures.
Women in Saudi Arabia are banned from driving, must wear a head-to-toe cloak when out in public and must obtain permission from a male relative to work, travel, study or marry.
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