Rollcall please: Hanadi Jaradat, Wafa Idris, Andalib Sulaiman, Ayat al-Akhras, Khava Barayeva, Elza Gazuyeva, Maryam Sharipova, Zulikhan Elikzhiyeva…
I love how people are recently all up in arms over this supposedly new wave of violence perpetuated by women. The rash of suicide bombings in Iraq, as though this sort of thing is a new phenomena, the whole outcry from the “West” is universal: “Oh, women are killing people!” Of course they’re killing people, it’s not like women have all of a sudden decided to become warriors en masse in the 21st century.
Assia Djebar writes about “women with bombs strapped to their bellies.” in her novel Women of Algiers in their Apartments and how women after the Algerian war for independence were sidelined and left as opium addicts and prostitutes. The notion of women as actors in “independence” movements is so not old, nor obviously is it exclusively “Eastern” or “Islamic” and the cause and effect are not mutually exclusive by any means, just different perpetrators at the outset.
To be as candid as I will probably ever get, women are pissed-off, desperate, and well, what would you do if you had no options, your livelihood was gone, and you were quite literally shoveling your way out of a hole? The obvious answer is that you’d fight back. So women choose suicide missions, what else are they going to do?
I don’t condone it, I don’t want to pretend like I intimately understand it, but on some level, the most base level of common womanhood, I empathise wholly.