Now more than ever we seem to live in a world that thrives on absolutes, on generalisations, on binary rhetoric and dog whistle politics. In the country where I live, we hear and read things like: “Everyone’s got to be on Team Australia”. Arabs are Muslims and Muslims are Arabs (and these are used interchangeably). We hear that Muslims or Arabs are terrorists. You are with us or against us. And if you are not with us, you are with the terrorists. We also hear and read that Arab or Muslim women are oppressed and subservient to men. Or that Arab and Muslim girls are forced into early marriages.
As a community, we have been at the receiving end of such stereotypes and public discourse for decades. In my position as CEO of Arab Council Australia I have lost track of how often I have had to respond to vilification and demonisation only to drown in more negative commentaries.
Such absolute rhetoric denies me my experience and my everyday life as a woman; it denies me and hundreds of thousands others our rights as human beings. It holds us accountable for the deplorable behaviour of a few. It pigeonholes us and ignores the diversity and richness within communities. It divides, silences and marginalises us. It simplifies our lives for public consumption. It also stirs up hate and causes harm for generations to come.
We all know that reality is much more nuanced than these simplistic absolutes. There is a great deal of good will and wisdom among the majority of Australians and there are many progressive people working for justice who support our cause. This gives all of us hope.
However, it takes one hateful act to set us back and make us feel isolated and under siege again.
One such act came in the form of an anonymous letter to my organisation. The writer goes into details of how she or he is afraid of Arabs and is “threatened by the immediate sight of an Arab”. This person claims we are not doing enough to reassure the broader community. We should condemn terrorism and hold a public meeting where people from the broader community could air their feelings, the letter demanded. The writer concludes with two additional points: “I will not want my 17-month-old daughter to associate with a person from Arab descent” and, “I am not going to sign this letter because I am worried about a fatwa on my head”. I don’t even know what a fatwa is or how it works!
This letter had a profound impact on me. It shouldn’t have but it did. I have been in this space long enough to know that racism exists in all forms. That people take their cues from politicians, the shock jocks and tabloid media who successfully tap into fear and prejudice. No matter how often we have condemned terrorism, we are lectured on the need to do more to appease some individual somewhere around the country, or to rescue a politician’s career when they’re having problems at the polls. I know this. Still, I was physically and emotionally sick for days after reading the letter.
Arab Australian women’s experience of domestic violence, sexism and gender inequality is consistent with that of our sisters from all other communities. However, the propaganda about us being oppressed and subservient to men and the proclamation of concern about young girls being forced into early marriage is problematic and insulting. This rhetoric is part of the broader racist and patronising narrative – the narrative that implies we are barbarians and our women and girls need rescuing. Of course, there is no denying the fact that there are oppressive practices in our society and that some girls may well be forced into early marriages (and these are totally deplorable and need to be challenged). But stereotyping and labelling Arab women alone denies our individual experience and isolates us as women and girls, which only makes matters worse.
I was born in Lebanon to Christian parents, a spoilt princess with great ambitions who was a much idolised and loved first child. My parents believed strongly in equality of education and encouraged my brothers and sisters and me along this road. However, in a great fit of rebellion in my teens, I ran away with a man 14 years my senior and married him at the age of 14. A big scandal!
My parents and extended family were totally opposed to the marriage but couldn’t do much to change what was happening. So I got married to this man and I had my first child when barely 15. I went on to have two other children with my husband and we remained together until the day he died from cancer soon after our 25th anniversary. I did things in reverse to the general public. Sure, I got married and had my children earlier than most but that didn’t prevent me from getting an education and having a successful career. I am certainly not advocating early marriage nor am I suggesting that life was all smooth – it was tough in those early years when we first came to Australia without our families. And things were certainly challenging along the way as life usually is. But my experience made me who I am today – a person with integrity and a strong sense of social justice for all.
My life story is rich, full of wonderful things, of ups and downs. But then everyone’s story is like that.
However, because I come from a community that has been fashioned as the “enemy within”, I become faceless and I lose my unique story. I feel the oppression of racism on behalf of my people and I am concerned about its long-term impact.
When we stereotype and overlook the rich and diverse experiences of people we come up with one-size-fits-all technical solutions that buy into the “them” and “us” rhetoric. As such, we limit our ability to truly engage and connect with people, especially women and girls from vulnerable communities. We limit our ability to provide them with the relevant support and assistance they require to fully participate in society. And the cycle of oppression and isolation will go on.
Our community is quite diverse; we are people who come from 22 Arab countries of which approximately 65% are Christians and 35% Muslims. It is quite a large community with at least half a million Arab Australians, either born in one of the Arab countries, or claim an Arab heritage.
The issues we currently face are beyond any one organisation, group or community. These are societal issues and society is better served when we all consistently unpack and challenge the divisive narrative; when we all work together authentically and collaboratively.
Each of us has a responsibility to articulate and shape the kind of society we want to live in. I would like to live in a society that has a place for everyone. A society that believes we are part of the whole and if you hurt one, you hurt everyone.
This is an edited version of an International Women’s Day speech given by Randa Kattan at the University of Sydney on 6 March 2015.