The Proud Illusion

The warm tingling woke me up. The feeling was on the edge of uncomfortable. I knew it like I knew the place. It was the rays of the sun that had escaped from the prison of curtains coloured blue. I was awake but I had yet to open my eyes; I recollected the events of the previous day and mentally summarised my work into a schedule for today. I opened my eyes with determination and quickly rose.

I had a lot to do today. I had conducted some interviews yesterday but some women were still left. I hope I’ll be able to cover their stories by today. I need to move to the next village the day after. Sudan had so far been very enlightening for a Women’s rights activist like me. I was really proud of my work. The repeated petitioning and fund-raising by my team had showed results! We had enough funds to support women and children in this village. I am sure we would be able to construct a health care centre for them in a month's time.

There were so many stories of so many women here and I was really enjoying the process of unearthing each and every one of them. I felt I was a feminist in the true sense of the word, an advocate for equality between the two genders. These stories of sufferings, pain and war reinforced my determination to remove my personal prejudices and extend a hand towards them.

Today was no different; I was on my way to the camp which my team had set up, when, my phone tinged. I sighed. Social Media doesn’t really care if it is Sudan or Paris. It is ever-present and ever-so-annoying. I usually ignore the notifications but today I pull out my phone and check my Instagram feed. The first thing on it was a picture of a pair of breasts. The breasts belonged to an acquaintance of mine. The picture showed a line drawn from the collar bone to the valley between the breasts. The line had several markings on it, the first marking (collar bone) read ‘Prude’, the second (a little lower) read ‘Old-fashioned’ till the end of the line which read ‘Slut’ (Between the breasts). 

It was a scale which measured the "respectability" of a woman according to the depth of her neckline. A reality check. A taunt to the stereotypical mindset.

I was disgusted and revolted by the vulgar and despicable use of a woman’s anatomy to display societal judgements and stereotypes. It was my disgust and revulsion which erased any pride I had left on being a feminist. I realized I cannot accept the real life of women in my own social environment surely I have no chance of creating a change! Sudan or any other country is a distant thought when my current scenario is far from acceptable to me.