Nazik Al-Malaika
A Tribute page
http://www.koolpages.com/almalaika/Almalaika/herlife.html
This
page is dedicated to Nazik Al Malaika, the most famous and interesting of Arabic
female poets of the 20th century. You will find here samples of her poetry,
short stories, and social commentary.
Nazik Sadiq Al-Malaika was born in
She did lose her religious faith during her stay in the
States, and describes her spiritual, and intellectual, growth, and life
experiences, in the essay entitled " About My Life
and Education .
She was ardently opposed to communism, and, after coming
home from the states, her life was threatened during the communist era in
During the 50's, 60's, and 70's, she published a number of
important and influential works in the fields of Literature and literary
criticism.
Today she leads a secluded life in
She is known most for being one of the earliest
creators and advocates of what is known in the Arabic World as Modern
Free poetry.
Some of her poems translated to English are available here.
A different collection of poems is available here .
Nazik was interested in the situation of Women. One of her earliest and best essays , "Women between the extremes of : Passivity and Ethical choice." deals with what is
called today "The
repression of femininity in Patriarchal society." The thesis is that
Arabic women are not permitted to become ethical beings, since an ethical
stance persupposes a certain amount of intellelectual and material freedom, the
ability to make decisions for one self, make money, have an education, and
choose one's husband and life style. The essay is certainly a feminist classic
which fits today's Arabic world as much as it was relevant to the world of the
1954 when it first appeared.
The Beautiful Poem " Lament of a
Worthless Woman might well represent her views on this subject.
Nazik is also a famous short story writer. Typically, her
stories depict a rich world of feminine experience and relationships seldom
noticed by other Arabic authors. The stories however depict Universal human
themes and emotions, such as the experience of alienation, and the
difficulty of the encounter and reconciliation with the self and Others.
One of her earliest Stories, Jasmine ,
describes a woman's effort to establish a friendship with her young niece.
Another story, The sun beyond
the Mountain top , describes an Arabic Woman's emotions and thoughts
while she is giving birth.
Some Links:
Information
about Famous lebanese Author, Gibran Khalel Gibran is available at
Lebanon Net .
Some Classic and Modern Arabic Poems are available
at Arab Cafe
.
Biographical information about the lives of Arab Poets is
available at Barghouti.
Some Poems By Nazik Al Malaika:
http://www.koolpages.com/almalaika/Almalaika/Poems.html
1-
"Here am I between the jaws of death
As a heart still throbbing with the love of life
As a couples of eyes athirst
For the enjoyment of the universe;
Making advances to the charms of the evening,
I am still a bud, on the twig of fortune,
Whose dreams and hopes are fresh and new.
It is a shame, O death, that thou shouldst
Bury my youth anon in the world of dead
2-
And I, O life, what fate is meted out for me?
Am I going to be a word devoid of meaning?
Will the nights carry me away
And cast the gloom of oblivion over me?
In the morrow, fortune will extinguish my lamps.
And death will squander the echoes of my tunes,
Then I shall become, amongst other ghosts, a ghost myself
And shall be erased from mortal existence.
Oh, no, I do not want that.
Would fortune have mercy on my tears.
Misery and sadness
Let there be a lasting echo of my melodious, song
Ringing in the hearing of the coming years,
Song ringing in the hearing of the coming years,
nay even centuries
O mercy! do not let my flowing tears
Be an early elegy on my youth.
3-
How did our days pass - how did they?
Between the jaws of eagerness and grief!
Your heart and mine were full of love and anxiety
But we took refuge under the wing of secrecy.
Whenever my eyes speak to you of my love
I punish them by depriving them of you.
O my poet, how did we keep it secret?
Yet of old, no two lovers ever disobeyed Cupid.
O my song, when shall my tunes reach thee,
So that thou wilt listen to the joys of my love?
Why do I spend my days suppressing my eagerness,
When my heart is overflowing with emotions?
Always we meet and always I ignore you, perplexed,
while my sad heart is possessed of the anxiety of the lover!
It is pride possessing the soul
That makes a love appear indifferent
4-
Is then then what they call life?
As lines we continue drawing over the water,
As echoes of a cruel song which does not touch the lips.
Is this then the essence of existence?
Wild scattered nights with no return
and the traces of our feet on the road of the deaf ears of time are gone!
For the storm's hand wipes them kindlessly
and surrenders them to nothingness
5- Veiled Utopia.
A haven of magic, we were told
It was.
Made of nectar and twilight roses,
Of tenderness and gold.
In it, they said, was
The panacea for the wounds of man.
We wanted it, but didn't get it.
Back to our hopes, miserable and unfulfilled.
Where is this land?
Are we to see it or
is it to stay enveloped, unattainable
Agitating inside us only
A numbed yearning?
A prayer
Within closed lips?
The millions are
A torrent of desire,
Burning desire,
And a dream of flame.
Open the gates for thousands
of exhausted victims are screaming.
6-
They spoke of 'life';
It is the color of a corpse's eye
It is the echoing steps of a stealthy killer:
Its curving days
a poisoned coat diffusing death.
Its dreams the humour of a demon
with paralyzing eyes, death - hiding lips.
7-
Where shall I go?
I'm weary of the ways,
I'm bored with the meadows
And with the persistent, hidden enemy
Following my footsteps.
Where can I escape?
The trails and roads that carry
Songs to every strange horizon,
The paths of life,
The corridors in night's total darkness,
The corners of the bare days...
I've wandered along them all,
With my relentless enemy behind me,
Keeping a steady pace, or sitting firmly
Like the mountains of snow
In the far north.
Nazik Almalaika..
2. Lament of a Worthless Woman...
(Picture in
She left, no cheek turned pale, no lip trembled.
The doors did not hear the story of her death.
No window curtain overflew with sorrow and gloom
to follow the tomb until it disappeared
the news tumbled down the avenue its echo not finding a shelter
so it stayed forgotten in some hole, its depression the moon lamenting.
....
The night surrendered itself, without worry, to the morning
The light brought the voice of the milk girl, and the fasting
with the moaning of a starved cat of which nothing remained save bones
the fussing of salesmen, and the struggle of life
kids threw stones at one another in the middle of the road
while dirty water flodded the avenue, and the wind
toyd with the gates at roof tops, alone
in a state of semi-oblivion.
1952
One
Short Story
1.
Jasmine : A love greeting to the youthful : Nasrene
http://www.koolpages.com/almalaika/Almalaika/Jasemene.html
By
: Nazik Al MALAIKA
This story was first published in 1958, in the Arabic (Lebanese) literary Magazine AlADAAB. It was reprinted in AL MALAIKA's selection of short stories: The sun Beyond the Mountain Top.
When I left
There was in my little sister something which appeals to the
heart and I would have preferred to wait for a month to get to know her before
leaving for a long time. But the date for my journeying was preset and thus I
found myself with the coming of the dawn weaving my hands to my father and Aiad
as they came to tell me good-bye at the airport. Jasmine was then only two
weeks old.
The influence of living away from home is immense. At first,
the foreigner clings to all she brought along with her from the old lands which
opened its arms and gave her away to the distance. she clings to little things
such as the number of the trees in the garden where she used to play, the taste
of tea made in her house and which nothing else resembles, and the small face
of Jasmine which filled the heart for a few days before distance muted the
sound of her crying. She clings to all of these things swearing never to let
go, never allowing forgetfulness to steal them from her. But the new life holds
on to her offering new issues, situations and faces and soon she forgets even
that she is forgetting. And in the beginning of the second year she senses
suddenly how far she became from all what she loved, and the big truth
surprises her: She has changed.
Four years. How could I not forget Jasmine? Ayad would
mention her occasionally among other important news items: The bark of the oak
tree is twisted, the harvest was weak this year, and Jasmine has grown and is
now attached to our cat, etc...
I used to send her toys occasionally and had her picture on
my desk. But these sparks of attachments did not connect us. All I had was the
image of a sister, and I did not feel the yearning which communication and
closeness creates. That did not bother me. I knew I was coming back to
Then I came back in the fall.
In the happiness of the meeting, I forgot all about
Jasmine. After the first minutes, Ayad came to me carrying a beautiful
little girl with long black hair, wearing a blue Italian Pantaloon. Ayad put
her in my arms saying: "I see you have forgotten Jasmine. Don't you ever
inquire about her?"
Jasmine! From that first moment my little sister became the most
important of my occupations.
It seemed to me that my absence in the States locked within
me the love and yearning which exploded when I came back. As for Jasmine, she
refused from the start my friendship: As soon as I held her and tried to kiss
her, she pushed me away with both of her hands saying: "Go away. I do not
want you." My mother had to take her away from me. She tried to assure her
by telling her that I am her older sister Widad of whom she has heard often.
And when my mother felt my disappointment she told me: "Do not worry. She
doesn't know you yet. Give her time to like you." But the passage of days
did not fulfill this prophecy since Jasmine's views of me did not change.
I acted as normal people would in such situations: I
liked my cute little sister, so I did all I can to get to know her and
establish communication between us. I flooded her with toys, candy, and
clothes, and whatever she likes, and paid close attention to all her affairs.
But my efforts only made her tense, so she kept a distance from me, and was
cautious, as though I am a stranger. Her little heart remained closed to all my
keys without sharing a single emotion from those sororial feelings which filled
my heart. Our family members were touched when they saw all my efforts fail and
in the end of each I would hear the same response: "Go away .. I don't
want you."
I did theorize the situation, saying that sororial love is
not an abstract concept for a four year old kid as it is for us, older folks,
but must grew as a seed. Jasmine grew up in this house for four years and
got accustomed to all its inhabitants, including the cat. She saw their faces
every day and recieved their love and kindness. That was her world, the little
happy kingdom she ruled. Then all of a sudden I came and she was told to
include me as a citizen. Why? Because I am her sister. Is this an acceptable
logic for her?
Jasmine never had a place reserved for me in her kingdom. I
arrived late to find instead of the heart where I expected pure love a
castle the entrance to which is forbidden.
....................................................................
What does distance do to us? In
They think that we gain from our lives abroad, without
imagining the price which we will have to pay. The life away from home is not
all joy, and its cost is usually heavy. Some of us pay it while distant, and
some later. We return home altered, inside us new layers are piled, deep in
each of which are different faces, echoes of words uttered in strange
gatherings, visions of distant sites, paths curving in farms different from
ours, and chambers in buildings which exist elsewhere.
We have lived a past with different roads and grown
accustomed to different faces, and now we need to erase that past from our
lives absolutely. No one here shares it with us. Every other past can exist in
our present except that American past which we are obliged to efface
immediately. Our parents and friends look at it worryingly. Just as Jasmine is
cautious with me. They imagine that we should not change, and treat us as
though we are still the same. That will be what first surprises us as we enter
the house looking for our old connections. We try to do what they want from us,
and erase the past for their sakes, but we eventually find out that the past is
not a paper we can tear and rid ourselves of easily. And if we do, it will be
the same as living in our house without Jasmine. She is the theoretical
correlative to this change in my life. Isn't she four years old?
And then a new horrible feeling started growing inside me.
Is it just me who have changed? Did they not change as well. Time has separated
us. Jasmine's refusal of me is the name of this gap since she embodies all what
I do not know in my parent's lives. And what do I know? They were telling me in
their letters about important events, and these are usually the most
superficial. What do I know about the essentials? Four years of silence, and
then I come back and find Jasmine four years old. If my parents too have
changed, and their change has a voice, it would shout at me: "Go.. We do
not want you" in the same manner of Jasmine. Probably, it is already
shouting.. That was how I felt.
......................................................................
Regardless of the situation, I grew very attached to
Jasmine, so that her coldness towards me was a dismaying phenomena, making me
feel like a stranger at home. I continued trying to decrease the distance
between us, but I began - when all my efforts at gaining her friendship
failed, to feel frustrated. So I told her angrily: "Jasmine. I do not love
you. Do you hear?" And I would feel a wave of emotions gather in her face
in such instances, but soon she would gather herself and respond challengingly:
"Why don't you get back to
These conflicts between us increased becoming eventually serious. My mother was
surprised that I did not learn in my travels to conceal my emotions so that I
can manage situations instead of surrendering to them. She was also dismayed by
my lack of patience, and told me numerous times and the question of the child's
love for me should not be dealt with in a spirit of anger but requires self
control until she grows accustomed to me and stops seeing me as a stranger in
the house. But I was getting impatient, imagining that my mother too, has
changed.
I continued my efforts without despairing of Jasmine. She is
my sister and I love her and she will reciprocate my feelings one day. I would
buy her a gift in the afternoon and then we would fight at dinner. It bothered
me terribly that she would accept my gifts and refuse me. On numerous
occasions, my father would protest that I am causing trouble at the dinner
table by angering the child. I would sometimes upset her by taking her plate
from its place in front of her, and she would bow her head refusing to talk or
even comment on the matter. All this frustrated our mother whose patience
deteriorated with this continuos conflict: Jasmine refused to love me, and I
would not stop my affection for her.
Actually, the conflict between me and her was like a war, and it
soon became obvious to everybody that Jasmine found pleasure in repeating the
refrain: "Go. I don't want you." As for me, I ceased seeing her as a
little baby girl, but imagined her an adult knowing perfectly what she is
doing. She appeared to me ambiguous, obstinate, invincible, as though her four
years are a strong castle which separates us leaving me behind the walls. Her
world continued growing within me until it became larger than life. It
disturbed me that others did not look at the matter seriously, but teased me
about it occasionally, even though I was very affected by it.
I never had a truce with her. Often I would surprise her
with horrible suggestions as saying: "Jasmine, would you like me to give
you to that tall construction employee and ask him to build you into the wall?
You will look real pretty there?" Or I would suggest hanging her in the
fan at the ceiling and letting her turn. She probably understood that I was
teasing her, so she would answer coldly as though she does not appreciate my
sense of humor, saying: "Mamma would not agree." And my mother would
blame me for telling such unpleasant jokes to a four year old. But I have
ceased being wise. Jasmine's coldness angered me, and I forgot the basic laws
of propriety. The conflicts between us continued until my dad complained saying
he does not know who is the child, me or Jasmine.
...............................................................................
Months passed without any change in the situation. Jasmine's kingdom stayed
closed in my face until the summer arrived, when a strange unforgettable event
took place.
Jasmine always refused to enter my room, and all my efforts
to induce her to visit failed. So it happened in the early afternoon hours of a
very hot day that I found her sleeping in my mother's room. There was an
electricity shortage which effected one half of the house, and the fan stopped,
so the baby was sweating terribly. I could not bear it so I decided to
carry her to my room where the electricity was still available. I
remembered right away that Jasmine does not like my room. It was not right for
me to use her slumber to take her to it and enjoy seeing her there, even if
asleep. But the availability of a good excuse and the justification of the child's
own good stopped the voice of my conscience. All I want really is her
happiness. Besides, couldn't she leave the room when she wakes up? I will not
be her jailer.
That was how the event which I cannot explain until today
took place. It was one of those casual passing events which look superficial
but is actually related to the heart of matters in our lives and our behaviors,
as though it would leave on us its profound impact, changing our lives.
I remember that my mother and father were out of the house
that afternoon. Had they been there they would not have permitted me to take
Jasmine to my room, even if it was to her advantage, so long as we had the war
between us. So I laid my sister on my bed and stayed watching over her happily.
Her face looked like the face of a happy sleeping child. I started
reading, knowing that everything is all right. After an hour passed, I wondered
whether she hasn't slept for too long? I decided to allow her another
half an hour, and still she did not wake up, but continued her slumbering.
I started to feel tense. What heavy slumber! I started
calling her name and touched her hair trying to wake her up, but without
success. When she did not move, I was surprised so I carried her from the bed
and sat her on my knee expecting her to say with a sleepy voice: "Leave
me, I do not want you." But my expectation did not materialize and
the baby just rested her head on my shoulder quietly and stayed slumbering. I
was worried over her suddenly, doubting the nature of this profound slumber. I
returned her to the bed and went searching for Ayad to ask for his opinion. He
was in the garden watering the trees. When I explained the matter to him, he
smiled saying: "Jasmine again! Why don't you let her sleep a bit? She needs
some rest." His remark angered me, even though it was true. The
child played a lot; she probably needs more rest.
I returned to my chamber again and tried to read. Ten more
minutes passed and I noticed something which worried me. There was a strange
movement in her closed eyes, as though her pupils were moving in circles
underneath the closed eye lids. I touched her hands, and they were cold as ice.
I did not hesitate. The baby is ill and I need to worry. I tried waking her up
to no avail.
Finally I carried her and run to the garden where Ayad was.
When he saw her lying motionless in my arms he looked worried and sat her on
the nearest chair.
But his efforts at reviving her were futile: He whispered
her name, touched her hair, shook her, sat her, while she continued her
deep, death like, slumber. I felt terrible pain and was distressed. Shouldn't I
call the family Doctor? Ayad was still rational so he put her on my knee and
run to the nearest Doctor. He turned at the door, and, noting my paleness, said
gently: "Don't worry. She has fainted."
Don't worry! Does he imagine that I am worried! I was going
insane with distress. This has happened to the child because I took her to my
room. If something should transpitre, I will be responsible. Me who loves
her so much.
The following ten minutes were among the most severe in my
life. Anxiety stirred my imagination. Images were appearing to my eyes in
order, and to my memory arrived a childhood event which I have forgotten for
many years. My parents bought me, when I was very young, a doll - and it moved
when it was wounded up. As I sat watching her movements, she just stopped. I
felt an ambiguous dread, as though I have killed somebody. I cried until my
mother came and found me terrified. What brought this event to my memory? I
looked to the pale Jasmine and felt the same feelings again, seeing in front of
me the life which stopped in my hands. Did my childhood nightmare come to pass?
It is not a doll this time but the most loved of people. My tears started
falling.
I felt that it was painful for her to stay seated on my
knee. She would refuse for me to hold her when she was filled with the warmth
of life. Let me enjoy her now that her lips are blue and she is almost dead. I
was egotistic in desiring her love even to the extent of carrying her sleeping
to my room. Could she be so sensitive that she would get sick if someone forces
her in this manner? Could she be dying through a secret will which I can not
understand? Did I imagine that a sleeper would not know what goes on around
him? Could she have felt that she is in my room and protested by fainting or
dying?
I stayed worried as the baby showed no sign of life. Then I
heard my mother and hurried to her and in my heart a great hope. She is my
mother. Her mother. She will save her. If my love could not wake her up, the
love of a mother is stronger. As soon as she saw us her countenance changed,
knowing that something has happened. I still remember the strange tone of her
inquisitive voice: "What is the matter with her?" my voice came weak
and begging "She is sleeping."
Was it because of the presence of my mother that the child
came back to life? She breathed deeply, and then was moaning and sighing for a
few minutes. Then she opened her eyes and looked at us as though without
recognition. Finally, she stared into the emptiness beyond my mother's shoulder
and pushing her away, screamed. She started to the ceiling and cried. At that
instant my mother lost her composure and shouted: "My baby is dying. Call
the Doctor." I run to the phone and besides it I stood not knowing what to
do: She is dying then. My whole body was shivering and my mind vacant.
At this minute Aiad entered with a doctor from the
neighborhood. Jasmine woke up after a half an hour. The Doctor told us that she
had an epileptic seizure.
............................................................
As for me, I felt weary and depressed. So I withdrew
to my room and locked its door. I could not analyze my feelings but I suffered
from something which I cannot explain and probably have never felt before. I
put my head on my desk and cried for a few minutes without knowing exactly why.
I am not sure how I slept in my uncomfortable position either, but I dreamt.
The place was big and wide as an American train station which is
found regularly in the big cities. And I had with me many heavy bags. A person
whom I could not recognize stopped and talked to me for a few seconds. After he
left I looked around but could not find my luggage. Its place was vacant. The
sense of vacancy scared me because it stood in sharp contrast to the space
which my luggage filled. I searched in the station for my bags, climbing stairs
and descending others, as they ran in a nightmarish labyrinth. I would see my
luggage in the distance each time, so I would feel sure that I will find them
once I would turn around the stair. But the final stair would end suddenly with
a wall springing from the emptiness, or would lead me downward, making my
luggage more distant than before. Then I would end in a waiting hall and beside
me stands a luggage carrier who politely points where my bags are but when I
cross over they would disappear. Then the stairs started to thin out, and the
paths cress cross so that I was unable to get any where. The place was filled
with people and they would smilingly point the path to me and help me to no
avail until I lost my equilibrium and started sweating profusely and was unable
to speak. Then I heard a loud explosion resembling the crashing of two trains.
I woke up.
It was a nightmare caused, undoubtedly, by the awkward
position of my nick during my slumber.
Slumber and crying returned to me some peace and
concentration. In the next few minutes I faced myself, discovering - in one of
those epiphinic moments which might change the life of someone - the truth of
the matter. Simply, I loved my sister and she hated me. Matters reached their
conclusion this evening, and I must withdraw before it is too late. No more teasing
her after today, neither sweets nor candy. No efforts to invite her to my room.
Didn't I discover that she prefers epilepsy to my companionship?
What now? Does it truly please me to force her to love me?
What is the value of a sorority which does not spring as a flower when the sun
shines? I have seen Jasmine for the first time and she filled my soul, so why
did I not fill hers? My emotions were embracing the coldness of snow without
knowing. Jasmine was a beautiful marble statue which no friendship can reach.
It is in vain that I try to squeeze a one drop of kindness out of this stone.
Am I emotional? probably. This was the view of my mother. Or
is it that I do not know how to treat this strange child? I have depleted all
means, only to discover that I can not resolve this complexity. The girl is a
wall I cannot pass, like the walls in my nightmare.
When I discovered the impossibility of understanding her, I
started to feel some inner peace. It is always comforting to know that the key
to impossible goals is beyond our will and effort, and the moment when we reach
this insight we are liberated from the influence of these goals and their
impact on us. So I started to assert my independence from Jasmine, hoping to
imagine that she does not reside in the house, as though she never existed.
.................................................................................
A new phase in my family life started. I did not reach out
to Jasmine or talk to her without a reason. It was difficult in the first few
days since I was accustomed to keep busy with her to the extent that it was
difficult to push her from my mind suddenly. But I continued and persevered
refusing to be easy on my self. Soon the pain waves receded until it faded
away. As for Jasmine, nothing seemed to have changed. To the contrary, she
appeared happier and in better health, not in need of anything. Two weeks
passed.
It so happened during this period that a young female
relative swallowed, while laughing, a needle which she was toying with in her
mouth. The needle stayed deep in her throat, making it difficult for her to
breath. She had to go to
When saying good bye to family members, upon reaching
Jasmine I hesitated: Should I kiss her as I kissed the others? I remembered her
epilepsy so I controlled myself, content with just saying a nice word and
leaving her, almost in tears. She is my sister after all and I should not treat
her in this manner at a good bye moment. Who knows? We may never meet again?
Jasmine did not return my good-bye but hid her little face in the shoulder of
my mother and did not raise it until she faded from my sight.
I stayed in
Such news would pain and worry me. I would wish that I was
home to help bring her happiness back to her. I discovered also that her voice
telling me: "Go, I do not want you" is better than the silence of the
The same morning I received a lengthy letter from my mom
which detailed events which shook me and sounded unbelievable. Jasmine was
inquiring about me, and using my absence as an excuse for crying and demanding
whatever is forbidden her. She exploded one morning saying angrily that she
does not love anyone in the house as much as me. She would ask everyday when am
I coming back? She even requested that they write telling me that she loves me
and wants me back home.
How this letter affected me? I wished that the two remaining
weeks of my stay in
...........................................................................
At the airport, at the day of my return, Jasmine's face was the first I
saw behind the counter among those welcoming me home. I reached out to her,
still fearing holding and carrying her. When I called her name, she hid her
face at my mother's shoulders - as she did at the day of my departure - and
Ayad told her excitedly: "Jasmine. Widad is back as you wished. Say hello
to her." That appeal was unheeded, for she did not raise her head, and I
feared. They must have fooled me. Aiad lost all patience, so he carried her
from my mother and gave her to me. She did not resist, but she hid her face in
my shoulder refusing to raise it or say anything. But I saw the flickering of a
smile on her face. I noticed that for the first time she did not scream:
"Go. I do not want you." I started to relax. Haven't I yet learned
that the smallest of smallest of her acts carry the strongest of
meanings?
I carried her and run home, heedless of my luggage. I did
not feel ashamed of my appearance as I ran carrying her, while many of my
acquaintances stared.
1959
Two Essays
1.Segments from: About my Life and Education
http://www.koolpages.com/almalaika/Almalaika/herlife.html
By: Nazik Almalaika
This autobiographical
article was written mainly in order to respond to questions which were often
paused to the Poetess. It was reprinted more than once, appearing recently as a
part of the introduction to : Yugaer Alwanhu Al-Bahr , a collection of
poems which was published in
I was born on the 23rd of August in 1923. I was the oldest of my four
sisters and two brothers.
I graduated from high school in 1939. Since I was a child, I loved the
Arabic and English languages, History, and music. I also enjoyed the sciences,
particularly astronomy and chemistry. But I disliked mathematics. I looked
forward to the day when I could focus on the humanities in college in order to
escape math. I studied the Arabic language in a school which prepares
teachers, from which I got my BA in 1944. During my study, I was
introduced to - and loved- philosophy, which assisted me in being logical. My
continuous study of Arabic Grammar - especially the classic texts on this
subject, prepared me for becoming a poet. I actually started writing poems
since my youth. Since I liked rhyming when I was very young, and was able to
tell poetry from prose, I heard my father and grand father say that I am a poet
before I understood the meaning of the word. I wrote some poems, in Iraqi
slang, when I was seven years old.
I wrote my first poem in the Arabic language when I
was ten years old. It had a grammatical error, so my father threw in it cruelly
on the floor, and criticized me saying: "Go, learn the laws of Grammar
first. Then write poems." My grammar teacher in school was very weak, so
my father had to teach me himself. Within a month I ranked among the best
students in class.
My parents noted I was gifted and enjoyed reading. So, they
excused me from house hold responsibilities completely. I had therefore the
time to prepare for my literary and intellectual future.
Ever since I can remember, my mother was writing poems which
were published in Iraqi magazines and journals with the pseudonym: Um Nazar Al
- Malaika. My father was a grammar teacherr, and he wrote about literature,
language, and grammar, and he left many articles behind after his death, one of
which was an encyclopedia entitled: "The knowledge of the common
people" on which he worked his entire life, depending on hundreds of
resources. My father was not a poet, but he wrote many poems, including an epic
of three thousand lines in which he described a journey to
My parents influenced my intellectual and poetic life. My father
stayed my grammar teacher until I finished college. Whenever I had a problem,
he would help me. He taught me to love the grammar of the Arabic language.
My father paved the way, when he put in my hands his library
which included many of the more important Arabic classics. It was therefore
natural that I was the only female student in the Arabic department who focused
on a grammatical theme which was: "Schools of Grammar." The
supervisor was the knowledgeable Prof. Mustafa Jawad who influenced my
intellectual life immensely.
My mother's influence on my poems is clear. I would show her
my first poems, and she would critique them and try to guide me. But I would
argue obstinately. I was influenced since high school with the modern poetry of
Mahmod Hasn Ismail, Badawy Al Jabl, Amjad Al Tarabulsy, Omar Abu Risha, and
Bishara al Koli, and others, while she respected and loved more classic poets
as Alzahawy in particular. He was her favorite poet. Her interest was in
classic poetry, while I sought the innovative modern poets. But the taste of my
mother was developing, as would note those who would study her poems - which I
gathered and published in book called "Anshodat Al MAjd." My mother
was definitely moving towards modernism - but we remained different,
because of my interest in reading English and French works.
In spite of this difference we stayed friends. She would read my
poems, and I would read hers, until her death in 1953, when she was 42 years
old.
During the years of my academic education, I used to participate
in social events by reciting my poems. Iraqi journals would print those poems
after the recital, but I ignored that early work, and did not include any of it
in my published works because I have matured since then. The fact is that
I loved writing poems since 1941 when I was a student in college. In that year
I reached my emotional, intellectual and spiritual maturity. It was also the
year of an important revolution which I wrote about in many poems, which
however were not published. But the police regime gained control in
In 1947 I published my first collection of poems, which I entitled
"The lover of the Night." For me the night symbolized poetry,
imagination, vague dreams, the beauty of the moon, and flickering of the lights
on the river waters. At night I would play my lute (Aoud: An arabic
musical instrument resembling the Guitar) in the back garden of our house
between the thick trees, for hours. I had a good memory and I would memorize
the songs of Abdul Wahab and Aum Kalthum whenever I heard them through the
Gramophone of our neighbors. My mother would be surprised when I sang, and she
would say: "How did you memorize all these songs? Where did you hear them?
How?" She did not know that whenever I heard a song I would freeze, even
in the middle of the street. In those days, the radio was not yet a part of
Iraqi cultural life. We would listen to music through the gramophone.
A few months after the publication of "the Lover of the
Night"
On Friday, 27, 10, 1947, I awoke from sleep, and heard that
the number of the dying has risen to a thousand a day. I became depressed and
agitated. I carried a note book and a pen and left our crowded house to a place
where a huge building was being built next to ours. It was empty because of the
Friday holidays. I sat on wall, and started writing my poem "The
Cholera." I have heard in the radio that the dead were being carried on
top of one another in carriages driven by horses. So I tried following the
rhythm of the horses' trot"
The night has quieted
Listen to the rhythm of the echoes of moaning
In the depth of darkness, under the silence, for the dead.
In those lines of unequal length, I was able to express my feelings. The classic form could not express the tragedy of Cholera. I found myself successfully expressing my emotions with the new form:
Death, Death, Death.
Humanity laments the crimes of death.
In about an hour, the
poem was finished. I run home, crying to my sister "Ihsan":
"look I have written a strange shaped poem. I believe it will stir
controversy." As soon as my sister read it, and she was its first reader,
she became equally excited. We hurried to show it to my mother, but she
received it coldly saying: "What is this strange rhythm. the lines are not
of equal length, and the music is weak." When my father read
it, he was angered and expressed resentment, saying sarcastically:
"and what is this 'death, death, death'?" My brothers and sisters
were laughing as I retorted: "Say what you will. I am sure that this poem
will change the map of Arabic poetry." I was very excited when making such
statements. But the Great Lord was on my side, and my poem did have an impact,
as I wished in that strange friday morning in our house.
Since that day I wrote blank verse, even though I did not
move to the extreme of ignoring completely traditional poetic forms, as many
other poets, of the following generation, have done.
In 1949, I published in
......................................................................
In 1942 my interest in languages, poetry and art, reached its peak. I
sought culture and art hungrily. During that year, I enrolled in the Belle arts
institute in order to study the lute. I also studied acting, and latin. On top
of all this, I was a second year student in college. I gave myself passionately
to those studies, and loved them.
I yearned to play the lute since early childhood. When my father felt my
longing, he agreed to let me study it after some hesitation. I studied with
Professor Muhyee AL-deen hinder, known as Al-shareef, who had a unique style in
playing. Many of his gifted students -as Slman Shuker, and Jameel
Basheer, are well known in
Two motives urged me to study acting.
First I wanted to learn how to perform. I used to read my poems to audiences
without knowing how to express my emotions verbally. Studying drama helped me.
Secondly, when I looked at the study program, I was impressed. Drama students
learned Greek mythology in depth. The theme of "the history of Drama"
included studying Aescheles, Sophociles, and Arestophan. I knew how rich Greek
art was, and its necessity for the actor and the disciple, so I asked my
father's permission to study it. He refused at first, but then he was required
to teach the Arabic language - for Drama students. When he discovered that I
will become his student, he took me with him to Professor Al-Shably, who was in
charge of the program then, and he enrolled me as a student. I was happy.
There was a story for my interest in the study of Latin. I
was a student in the Arabic department, and we studied English. Our Professor
indicated often the necessity of learning Latin to whoever sought to study
English Literature. The desire for studying Latin was created within me. In
1941-1942 the English Program added Latin to its Freshman Program for English
majors. And now I longed for studying it. When I approached the Professor on
the possibility of studying in his class, he refused saying that it would be of
no use to me. I then talked to the Dean, asking his permission, and he allowed
me to study with the majors of English. I started excitedly memorizing those
endless lists of verbs conjugation.
My love of Latin stays with me today. I still purchase Latin
Poetry books, and try to read them whenever I have the chance. I remember that
I wrote my diary in Latin after two months of study. I also wrote lyrics to the
famous melody of - At the Balalaika - in Latin. Naturally, the lyric was primitive,
since I was a beginner in my study of the language. Bit I continued studying
Latin for many years alone with the help of a dictionary. Later, in Princeton
at the US. I studied a class where we read the speeches of shesheron. I became
also attached to the Roman Poet Cotolos, and memorized some of his poems. I
still recite some of them in my hours of solitude.
In 1949 I started studying French, at home, with my younger
Brother, Nizar, who was then a student in the English Department. He was
attached to literature and languages. He is also a poet. We were very close
friends, and we shared a room where visitors would find books scattered on our
beds. We often would discuss art and life. We started learning French without a
teacher, depending solely on an English book which taught French. We continued
learning until we were capable of reading poetry, criticism, and Philosophy, in
French. In 1953, I studied the French language at a language institute. We read
classics of French Literature, such as the stories of : Alfonse Dodie, Mopsan,
and the Drama of Moliere. But my pronunciation of that language was weak
because I studied without the help of a teacher who pronounced the words in
front of me. I never had the chance to travel to
I started reading English Literature when I was a student
when we read the sonnets of Shakespeare, and "a Mid Summer Night's
Dream". I translated one the sonnets to Arabic then. Afterwards I read the
poetry of Byron and Shelly. In 1950, I entered a course in the British Council
where we studied poetry, and modern Drama, in preparation for an exam by
I studied for a year, through a scholarship which Rockfeller
institute offered. They choose for me to study Literary Criticism in
...............................................................................
After I retained to
During this period I continued writing Poetry and Criticism,
publishing my works in Al-Adeeb and Al-Addab, two Lebanese
literary journals.
In 1953, I suffered an event which shook my life to the
core. My mother got very sick all of a sudden, and the Doctors decided that she
must have an operation immediately in
I was fortunate when I was chosen to study comparative
literature in the
The educational system at
I traveled to
I understand today that changing the self is a very
difficult task. I consider my effort to change myself and my attitude a heroic
struggle. I will one day select segments for my diaries in
On the way back from the States I passed through
In 1957 I published in
1958 was the year of the Iraqi revolution, which impacted me
totally for the whole year. I celebrated the revolution with a poem commencing
with:
The joy of the orphan
with a paternal embrace
The joy of the thirsty upon testing water
The joy of July with the breath of snow
The joy of darkness with a spring of light
our joy with the republic
The poem was a simple expression of profound joy with the revolution, and a warning against the conspiracies of its enemies:
Oh flower, the market is
stirring
Be careful of its zionist anger
with American Talons
But the Iraqi president,
Abd Al Karem Qasm soon wavered, and the desire for absolute power took hold of
him. He thus allowed the enemies of Arab unity to damage the beauty of the
revolution, destroying its nationalist tendencies which I loved dearly. The
violence of the government, and the fear for my safety under the brutality of
the regime, forced me to leave
In 1957 I started teaching in the college of education in
In 1962, I published my first book in literary criticism Issues
of Modern Poetry. In this book, I studied blank verse in depth,
explaining its meters. I depended upon my knowledge of the subject, and the
sensitivity I acquired through reading numerous poems in various languages, and
on my studies and knowledge of the works of my colleges. I dedicated the book
to president Abd ul Naser, thus challenging the Iraqi president who hated him.
In 1964, me and my husband traveled to
In 1964, I was invited by the institute for Arabic studies
in
In 1978 I published my fourth collection of poems entitled the
Moon Tree, Shjarat Al - Qamar. My poetry now evolved, becoming less
philosophic than it was at a previous period.
In 1970 I published an epic poem: The tragedy of Life and
a song to humanity.
.......................................................................
2. Woman Between
the Extremes of Passivity and Ethics:
By : Nazik Al Malaika..
This text, originally a lecture delivered in 1953, was later reprinted in
Al Malaika's book, Fragmentation in Arabic Culture. Al Tajzeaia fi Al
Mujtamaa Al-Arabi.
Discussions of the question of Woman remain emotional.
People deal with the issue subjectively, and common views are usually biased.
Personal believes and rigid social standards make the subject difficult to
discuss for the thinker who fears angering society, or making personal
judgments, ot even falling into a social or religious abyss. The cause for this
situation is that the question of woman still remains an ethical issue, and
every ethical issue touches, from different angles, the different sides of
social, religious, and political aspects of human society. Nothing is more
difficult for the searcher than dealing with ethical questions, because every
individual in the society considers himself, regardless of his culture, an
authority on the subject. So the theme turns to an emotional minefield. The
most important evidence for this situation is that the bases for the law which
addresses women's issues and concerns is to be found in local tradition, rather
than logic. Tradition, if we look at it closely, is a blind law established
through the accumulation of habits and emotions through time in a specific
environment. It is not therefore the proper bases for laws.
There are problems other than the ethical ones. Women in
this country have not yet reached the intellectual level necessary to recognize
the bitterness of their situation. The moment when an individual recognizes
that he has been misused is crucial in the history of her development. But the
individual will not feel the unfairness of his treatment until she tastes some
liberty. The question of liberty also does not accept compromise. One is either
free, or not.
Another obstacle in the path for development is a small
group of educated, and therefore very proud and sensitive, women. We here
confront a situation which might be called "Psychological cover up."
This is a common situation which impedes a woman from admitting to herself that
she is obeying her father or brother, so she deceives herself by imagining that
she is acting in accordance to higher ethical standards. Often we see females
advocating the veil, as though they are saying: "If we cannot achieve what
we want, let us want what we can achieve." In my view, this is a
situation woman faces, which causes her to lose the strength of resistance,
keeping deep within her a smarting wound, acting as though she has achieved
what she wants..
As for the man made obstacles, it seems that they are caused
by his imagining that the liberation of women will lead to the loss of his own
liberty. He probably believes that her liberation will harm only him,
since the benefits will be solely hers. If he is not opposed to the idea, he
stays passive.
It is obvious that the two sides of this issue separate the
world into two groups: Women and Men, and create two senses of freedom, one
feminine and the other masculine. Few among us note that the slavitude of women
will inevitably create a masculine slavitude since the two sexes live in
co-operation in the same environment. The truth is that it is impossible and
illogical for those two beings to live together, with one of them being totally
free, and the other a total slave, since the slavitude of this side will effect
the liberty of that.
-2-
The first important point to make is that the history of women characterized
her till now with passivity. The evidence for this claim are clear. It is not
necessary to seek evidence in legal texts. To glance casually around us will
show the extent of common opinion's disregard for women. The fact is that the
history of human bondage does not include a worse case in which the individual
lacks all the rights of life. Women have lost gradually even their human value.
This appears in little events we see every day without noting. For example,
there are different values attached to the relationship with the brothers of
the fathers, and those of the mother. Society considers the brothers of a
father closer to the individual than the brothers of his mother. This evidence
suggests that the father is considered more important than the mother. Another
example which shows society's disrespect for women is that married women are
considered more important than single females. Married women have many benefits
and gain the respect of people. Does not this indicate that the value of the
woman is not in her character, behavior, and culture, but is obtained as a gift
from her espouse? Which lowers her to passivity and kills her ambition. If
personality can be obtained through marriage, it is no wonder that marriage
becomes her sole objective. Woman according to this strange view is merely a
mirror reflecting the grandeur of others.
Economically, when the modern male complains that he is
supporting a female, he is equally assuring her lower value in his gaze. For
this complain includes a strange meaning in it, which is that her labor in
child rearing and education, cleaning the house, and cooking, all this appears
valueless in comparison to his work in the store, factory, or parliament. He
forgets that this division of labor should result in a division of income. If
woman has assumed the responsibility of staying at home to perform many
difficult jobs, while the man works outside, it necessary follows that
she has earned her part from his earnings, not as a gift, since she would earn
that sum if she worked outside as well. what matters for us is to discover that
the complicated work of women in the home appears valueless to men.
The Arabic language equally shows the absurdity of the
woman's situation in our society. The simplest study of the terms and
grammatical roles show that this is the language of a nation which does not
esteem its females. Grammar always prioritizes the masculine over the feminine.
and the plural is usually put in the masculine, even if the number includes one
male element, and one million females. Singular terms are often used to
indicate the female plural in traditional Arabic texts. It is worthy of
note that the word Amia (meaning illiteracy) is taken from the word Aum
(meaning mother). The term used to describe a great poet in Arabic
"Shaer Faahl" means masculine, and shows a disassociation between the
feminine and the creative element of culture. And these are just a few examples
which can be easily multiplied.
This underestimation of the woman's value and labor led to
her deprivation of private property. And we don't mean the economic element,
since she has lost other aspects as well. Such as time. What does a woman have
of this fortune which she theoretically should take one half of? Nothing
in reality. Woman has been burdened with labor which occupies her full time,
while man has the time to search and read and make great art and contemplate
and socialize in the sciences and even worship What he believes in , which too
is an aspect of personality of a human being who willingly chooses his path.
The strange thing is that people assume that the work in the house is something
which nature imposed on the woman, and though she has been provided with
special organs which prepare her to cook and clean. We hear talk about woman's
"natural place in the home" and they refer actually to this labor, in
which many men excel: Some men are great cooks and cloth makers.
But the loss of time and money is less strange than another
loss to which the woman is subjected, and that is the loss of her name. The
woman, even in the west, carries the name of her father while unmarried, and
then loses it once married, and takes the name of her husband. And if he
divorced her for any reason, she regains the name of her dad. and she might
marry again , and then her name is changed for the fourth time. If
this is not tragic, it is actually comic. This being should have her own name,
which does not change. And a stable name is almost an indication of a human's
pride in his personality and past and labor. The real cause of the loss of the
woman's name might be her deprivation of the right to build her own
past, through her own efforts. There is certainly a disgrace if a woman carries
the name of her husband. And if a man carries the name of his wife most people
would despise him. People accept this costume without thinking about its
meaning and signification.
As for the loss of the children whom the father is permitted
to take away from the mother, once they reach maturity, this is in our view the
worst kind of deprivation and the most brutal.
It is necessary to mention the ethical restrictions imposed
on women. Even characteristics have different connotation when applied to men
and women. Generosity is considered a feature of nobility in the male, while it
is seen as being wasteful when applied to women. The origin of this feature is
perhaps that man considers the money his and not hers.
Another instance of the different ethical expectations
imposed on both genders is mourning. When someone dies, his sister, mother and
daughter are expected to wear black, and stay at home, while the men are
allowed to seek relief outside. They have the right to wear black, or not, even
in their ties. The meaning of this separation is obvious and it is caused by
the injustice we discussed above. The objective of the social practice of
mourning is clear: It is that the woman stays in her home for the longest time,
and economize in what she wears, so that a one dress is enough.
-3 -
The moral component in a woman's life deserves further analysis, since it
may well be the origin of all other deprivations which she suffered, as though
it is the theoretical abstract aspect of the subject. And the beginning of the
error is that the moral law is emptied of the first condition of every moral
law, the condition which makes it possible to describe a human being as moral
or immoral. The truth is that a moral law is meaningless if the
individual is not permitted to transgress it. Every moral law gains in
strength from the assumption of the individual freedom to accept or reject it.
And this liberty is the source of ethics, and allows for judging behavior as
worthy or condemnable, which implies that if a law is forced, morality would
lose its value, becoming coerced behavior without merit.
To explain this view, let us imagine a man honest because a
lie will lead to his death. Such a man isn't honest since his honesty is
forced. And here, honesty loses its merit. One praises honesty if the
individual is permitted to choose between lying or telling the truth without
coercion. I remember having heard a man talking with disgust about those who
eat fish, saying that they forget the image of the fish writhing in agony at
the shore as she is dying.. The man's younger sister said: "But you hated
the taste of fish since you were young." He was upset with his sister, and
criticized her in front of the guests. And the reason is that she made his
virtue appear coerced. Her statement that he hates the taste of fish deprived
him of the moral choice, making it appear coerced.
The truth is that so long as the choice is coerced, society
considers it less virtuous, as though virtue requires free choice.
Morality cannot exist with coercion.
If we think of the situation of women, we will discover that
she has not reached the situation where any moral law applies. She is still
tied to a position of passivity which deprives her of any kind of morality. Or,
she is prevented by force from having any ethical code according to which she
can be assessed. She is not good because her goodness is coerced. And she is
not bad because the bad she does is caused by the temptation of breaching the
law, which that law itself creates. For, every restriction creates the
temptation to breach that restriction. Perhaps, the cause of this
situation is that every restriction implies an accusation of a moral weakness
which needs to be watched. As though the restriction is already an accusation.
Many of the innocents who are accused of moral weaknesses might enact them
eventually. The reason for this is that innocence is hurt of the accusation to
the degree that the soul yearns for fulfilling it. One might cling to morality
because of the pleasure of feeling innocence and purity. What would happen if
we are accused of what we did not do? One faces the situation of the little
girl who was accused of stealing a golden necklace and was punished cruelly
without being able to prove her innocence. When she grew she desired to
steal although she did not need the things which she stole. She might
have philosophized the situation saying: "they consider me a thief
anyway.. So, why should I fear? Why not enjoy the things which I stole
anyway?" This is the logic of abused innocence.
Restriction is also harmful because the restricted subject
is condemned to the loss of the virtue of choice and of its moral destiny.
Restriction deprives the restricted subject of the pleasure of choice and
control of its behavior. While moral freedom gives the individual a sense of
power which springs from the depth of the psyche and causes the individual to
choose the moral dimension. and is the psychological award for the choice. It
is possible to state that: the more one is free to choose, the more one senses
the pleasure of the decision. This feeling is the magical key to the situation.
An example is the case of a man who gave a hundred dollars to the poor
willingly, and another who gave the same sum at a party because all of his
friends did the same. The first person is happy because of what he did. The
second is angry, and might swear not to attend such parties in the future. In
this case, the virtuous action is not longer virtuous. and it is the situation
of the woman who has lost her choice and is coerced. This is why it is
impossible for a woman to feel as a generous man does when he aids the poor.
Her virtue is forced on her, and she is therefore deprived of all the
psychological pleasure resulting from it. Thus a woman endures virtue without
any awards, which is very difficult.
-4-
All this explains the reason for women being during entire
periods in a passive position which makes all moral judgments on her
impossible. The pressures and coercion imposed on her made her entire life a
lengthy list of restrictions which deprived her of all positive ethics. This
retention of her energy inside herself caused her to substitute behavior
for an outside veil, meant as a protective screen for the handicapped depths,
so that it does not appear broken, passive, without being, and on this screen
all the moral judgments were based.
The fact is that most judgments addressed the results
without looking at the causes, so they studied the behavior of women without
the cost of the restrictions imposed on her, and searched for the morality in
the life of a being without freedom, and sought the character where there is no
will, and explored the present, where there is no past or history. And this was
the view of many philosophers, and it lacks rationality and equilibrium. For,
there is no ethics without total freedom of behavior, and no character without
self conscious ethics, and no production in any field without a deep and round
character, which can analyze its wants and desires. This is because liberty
produces ethics, and ethics produce character, and character is what produces
art and thought and humanity.
The truth is that the behavior of a woman in this situation
cannot be any different from what we see today among the lower classes. She
does not wish to condition herself for life in this cruel environment which
does not protect her but treats her with absolute cruelty. And in the shade of
this pressure , woman was forced to give up on all the benefits of virtue,
since she discovered instinctively that this virtue is no more than a luxury
which the free enjoy. As for the enslaved, acting moral deprives them of the
dream of their rights. Thus, woman gave up on much of the moral luxury which
beautifies life and gives it depth and intellectual richness.
The pleasure of friendship was one of these luxurious items
women lost. For woman cannot be a friend today. The moral obligations deprived
her of this human pleasure which humans enjoy the more their horizons expand
and their social character matures. For friendship requires liberty in the
giving of caring. It is a tide which floods another human being. In this it is
like generosity because the generous gives to satisfy an inner craving. Thus
one gives love to friends. and woman feels that she does not have anything to
give others because she lacks liberty and confidence. She is miserly because
her she has so little to give. She barely has enough to survive, so how can she
give others anything? She is like shallow water which cannot swell to
irrigate the valleys near by.
Friendship is a psychological giving which completes the
human character and fulfills the sense of freedom. And the woman in her
fragility and lack of property is careful, in a miserly way, about what she
has. And this is the reason for the miserliness in all parts of her life. She
fears spending as though it is a danger to her. This is a defense required by
the inability to compete with those around her. In human history one finds the
members of abused minorities feeling envy and acting egotistically, weak and
hateful and miserly, which are the feelings thinkers attribute to women. One
might say that each negative attribute results from a feeling of loneliness and
the lack of social protection.
Woman lost not only friendship, but the uniqueness of
character as well. Philosophers have noted and mercilessly mocked this lack of
individuality in women. A philosopher said: "I know many men, but only one
woman." meaning that all women are different copies of the same
character. The cause of this situation is obvious. For without freedom of
behavior people act in the same manner. It is liberty which opens gifts and
endowments and the forces of the self. And the character is the sum total of
all these elements. Difference of character is created as a result of the
liberating of the different aspects of the self. As for the instincts and
social habits, they are alike in all members of a community. There is no doubt
that women are similar because they are subjected to the same passivity. How
can we expect difference of behavior and attitude between women? And according
to what law could we require of enslaved women to posses Personality and
originality and a character? If we take of the question of behavior all what
remains of the individual is the similar natural instincts and characteristics
which men, as much as women, possess.
The lack of personality resulted in the lack of
responsibility, outside the very limited personal circumstances. What is
responsibility, other than the sense of a power which encourages us to help
others and assist them in dealing with their circumstances? Woman does not feel
this power because she is always protected by her brother and father from
the danger of uncertainty and the difficulty of making decisions. After
centuries in this situation, she learned to distrust her ability to make decisions
independently.
This lack of responsibility might be the cause for women
talking faster than men. Recent American research suggested that the number of
words women utter in a minute exceed that of men. Man talks slowly because he
thinks and weighs his words before uttering them. He realizes that the wrong
word might cause disasters sometimes. His sense of responsibility drives him to
reflection before speaking. Women speak so fast that occasionally she changes
the meaning of words. And, the more the meaning is deep and specific, the more
one needs to reflect in saying words. This means that character effects the
speed of speaking.
These are some examples about the practical impact of
restriction on the lives of women. It is obvious by now that women did not
reach the point where it is possible for philosophers to judge them
morally. There is no morality without liberty and choice. Isn't it about time
for those millions of women to stand and require of society to give her the
right to create ethics and morality ?
-5-
The question is: What can woman do regarding their
situation? Should she stay at home and await the movement from passivity to
morality, and enter public life afterwards? Or should she seek representation
so that few cultured and economically liberated women might defend her rights?
We recommend the second view because the right to representation is not
attached to culture. Two and half Million Iraqi women deserve to be represented
in a democratic society. This in addition to the fact that the admission into
the practical domain of life will help women overcome their passivity. a
passivity which men share and it is certain that for every enslaved women there
is an enslaved man.
As for the protests, the stronger objection is that woman is
not intellectually endowed, that thinking is masculine. We will not mention the
names of women who appeared in various intellectual and scientific domains.
Some knowledge of logic, and the laws of heredity, offer better perspectives.
It is not logical that woman , who is the source of life, lacks the gifts which
later generations possess. It is impossible to accept this generalization.
Nature does not create half a race inferior to the other.. since the fetus
combines the qualities of both parents.
Some object that the happiness of society today results from
the division of labor.. where women is responsible of the home.. so that her
leaving it will lead to the collapse of the family. And this strange accusation
ignores the primary goal for the construction of a society. Why do people
sacrifice some of their individual liberties to live together? The answer is
that society is created to offer individuals the possibility of using the
maximum intellectual and emotional level which nature has given the
individual.
And so, what is the excuse for a society sacrificing half
its citizens for the sake of the other half? This is a situation which
sociology could not accept theoretically. Since the implied meaning is that we
planned society before hand, without thinking of its actual needs.
As for the objection that "if even men do not succeed
in public life, how can women?" It is based on the assumption that women
are similar to men, which is not valid. If we accept the sexual difference between
the sexes, we should expect some difference in their endowments. It is certain
that female thought will bring in a new point of view in the human cultural
level.
We might say that the domain of women is like areas in the
mind which have not been explored and used. She is a new continent which no
other discovery will match. Nothing is greater and more wonderful or deeper
than the energy which nature gave the human being. Let that human be the
greater law with which we measure the justice of our laws and systems.