On Coptic Women's Writing
In life, it’s hard to dream about what’s not visible. When you look around and can’t find any version of yourself out there in the wider world, when you scan the horizon and see nobody like you, you start to feel a broader loneliness, a sense of being mismatched to your own hopes, your own plans, your own strengths. You begin to wonder where—and how—you will ever belong.
-- Michelle Obama. The Light We Carry (p. 96). Crown..
I read this passage today from The Light We Carry, and thought about how few Coptic women writers there are -- at least published authors. How can it be that generations of Coptic women have lived and died in Egypt and the Diaspora, and yet their voice seems not just remote, but non-existent? In my heart, I know that there is more to their absence than meets the eye.
Perhaps, Coptic women have chosen to keep their thoughts and personal narratives private and far from public scrutiny for fear of judgment and ostracism. Without question, personal diaries exist, safely locked away from prying eyes, that witness to the lived experience of Coptic women.
Yet, there are Egyptian women writers -- and Arab women writers of different nationalities and faiths.
While at university, I remember meeting Nawal El Saadawi. She was not Coptic, but she was one of Egypt's most recognized female writers. She met the ire of extremist factions in Egypt and was famously imprisoned by the Mubarak regime.
When her novel Woman at Point Zero was published, many Egyptians were critical of the audacity of her narrative. The harrowing events of her protagonist's life were too raw, too shameful to be discussed publicly. Nawal's critics asserted that the novel must be banned because it embarrassed Egypt, by drawing attention to the misogyny and sexual objectification of Egyptian women and girls.
Unfortunately, not many in Egyptian society came to Nawal's defense, to affirm her right to speak forthrightly about the economic and social conditions which served as the backdrop of the protagonist's life in Woman at Point Zero.
The day that Nawal spoke at a university-wide lecture, my parents were present in the audience. They knew I had the opportunity to meet and speak with her personally at a dinner held the evening before for students minoring in Gender Studies (at the time, there was no major). I was deeply inspired to be in the presence of someone who I assumed was fearless, or that's how I perceived her.
In retrospect, I realize that I was seeing the manifestation of Nawal's resolve, her will fortified over countless days, weeks, months, years.
What if she had chosen to keep silent? Not writing would certainly safeguard her from vicious verbal and written attacks.
Are the fearful consequences of writing, of voicing dissent, for Coptic women any different? Are we brave enough to advocate for our inherent worth, to ask that our intellectual and spiritual gifts be put to good use in the Church? Do we dare ask to be included in the church's doctrine and methods of spiritually educating our children?
I've thought many times before: Why would a Coptic woman willingly subject herself to the scrutiny of her peers, by positioning herself as any kind of authority --- an artist, a teacher, a writer, an advocate?
The consequences of this kind of self-expression are clear:
Coptic women, married or otherwise, who dissent too loudly are often viewed with suspicion; they are deemed selfish, self-centered, eccentric, heretical and even insane. They are labeled spiritually infantile or bad Christians. A woman's worth is in the home, as wife and mother; it is not at the pulpit. A Coptic woman's silence is golden...that is until it engulfs her in a depression she cannot understand.
It starts early: when a young woman is too bold or obstinate, she is often forewarned or, in the best of circumstances, "advised" not to be headstrong; she must tone it down and get back in line. She is told "You must be the same as the others; do not consider yourself wise or competent in your own eyes. Do not criticize the church or question the male leadership of the Church. They are closest to God and have your best interests in mind. Know that you're true worth and happiness is in being a wife and mother. The quicker you accomplish this, the better. This is your purpose. Expect no more."
Undoubtedly, motherhood brings us inexpressible joy and true purpose to our souls; the love of a Mother is perhaps the closest earthly form of love to God, the Father's love.
But if that is so, why cannot the many Coptic women who have mastered this love, be called on to teach us how to love?
Why are Coptic girls and women dissuaded from pursuing life paths that encourage self-expression? In the extremity, they are told that artistic pursuits like writing, singing, dancing, painting, etc. are haram if they do not have Coptic teachings as their theme.
These outside pursuits are considered worldly and women who pursue them are cautioned against bringing shame upon themselves and their families. To avoid the pain and isolation of being ostracized, we learn to bend our will; in homogeneity, we find safety, but never lasting peace.
We learn that our struggles are to be expressed privately to family members or fathers of confession -- never in public. And certainly, never, in any way that would suggest the Church's teachings are too often firmly entwined with repressive cultural practices of Egyptian society.
Yet, in choosing to remain silent when our spirit calls us to say something, ensures an uninterrupted misery. It propagates a clear and externally imposed repression of women's voices, a generational trauma, a topic no one is willing to broach. By silencing ourselves in order to "keep the peace", we also divest from our true calling and tacitly ask God to please "choose someone else."
It's been more than 20 years since that university lecture. I've realized writing or not writing is actually a conscious choice between choosing to live in alignment with the Holy Spirit's plan for salvation, or with a limited self and imprisonment disguised as obedience to God's word.
I often wonder what Coptic society would be like if more Coptic women would lead by example -- by rallying their peers -- by telling them not to be ashamed of their private struggles and encouraging them to speak up rather than resign themselves--- especially when life feels unbalanced and the burden of our raising our children seems to fall so unevenly on our shoulders.
We have so much to benefit from sharing our life lessons with each other. By giving ourselves permission to express dissent and focus our minds on the thought "there must be a better way"-- without fear of retaliation or shaming, we can begin to make the incremental changes that will result in a qualitative shift in the lives of Coptic women and girls. Their formative years of our girls could be marked by joyful lessons; they would learn their inestimable worth, with ease; they would not be pressured into marriage before they are psychologically and spiritually ready; they would see themselves as more than reproductive vessels, but as souls endowed with special gifts by God and with a unique purpose.
I'm hoping that if you're reading this entry, then you will join us. Send us short pieces of prose on any topic. Tell us -- describe for us -- what it's like to be you; share your contemplations about Coptic womanhood. We're all ears.
-- Michelle Obama. The Light We Carry (p. 96). Crown..
I read this passage today from The Light We Carry, and thought about how few Coptic women writers there are -- at least published authors. How can it be that generations of Coptic women have lived and died in Egypt and the Diaspora, and yet their voice seems not just remote, but non-existent? In my heart, I know that there is more to their absence than meets the eye.
Perhaps, Coptic women have chosen to keep their thoughts and personal narratives private and far from public scrutiny for fear of judgment and ostracism. Without question, personal diaries exist, safely locked away from prying eyes, that witness to the lived experience of Coptic women.
Yet, there are Egyptian women writers -- and Arab women writers of different nationalities and faiths.
While at university, I remember meeting Nawal El Saadawi. She was not Coptic, but she was one of Egypt's most recognized female writers. She met the ire of extremist factions in Egypt and was famously imprisoned by the Mubarak regime.
When her novel Woman at Point Zero was published, many Egyptians were critical of the audacity of her narrative. The harrowing events of her protagonist's life were too raw, too shameful to be discussed publicly. Nawal's critics asserted that the novel must be banned because it embarrassed Egypt, by drawing attention to the misogyny and sexual objectification of Egyptian women and girls.
Unfortunately, not many in Egyptian society came to Nawal's defense, to affirm her right to speak forthrightly about the economic and social conditions which served as the backdrop of the protagonist's life in Woman at Point Zero.
The day that Nawal spoke at a university-wide lecture, my parents were present in the audience. They knew I had the opportunity to meet and speak with her personally at a dinner held the evening before for students minoring in Gender Studies (at the time, there was no major). I was deeply inspired to be in the presence of someone who I assumed was fearless, or that's how I perceived her.
In retrospect, I realize that I was seeing the manifestation of Nawal's resolve, her will fortified over countless days, weeks, months, years.
What if she had chosen to keep silent? Not writing would certainly safeguard her from vicious verbal and written attacks.
Are the fearful consequences of writing, of voicing dissent, for Coptic women any different? Are we brave enough to advocate for our inherent worth, to ask that our intellectual and spiritual gifts be put to good use in the Church? Do we dare ask to be included in the church's doctrine and methods of spiritually educating our children?
I've thought many times before: Why would a Coptic woman willingly subject herself to the scrutiny of her peers, by positioning herself as any kind of authority --- an artist, a teacher, a writer, an advocate?
The consequences of this kind of self-expression are clear:
Coptic women, married or otherwise, who dissent too loudly are often viewed with suspicion; they are deemed selfish, self-centered, eccentric, heretical and even insane. They are labeled spiritually infantile or bad Christians. A woman's worth is in the home, as wife and mother; it is not at the pulpit. A Coptic woman's silence is golden...that is until it engulfs her in a depression she cannot understand.
It starts early: when a young woman is too bold or obstinate, she is often forewarned or, in the best of circumstances, "advised" not to be headstrong; she must tone it down and get back in line. She is told "You must be the same as the others; do not consider yourself wise or competent in your own eyes. Do not criticize the church or question the male leadership of the Church. They are closest to God and have your best interests in mind. Know that you're true worth and happiness is in being a wife and mother. The quicker you accomplish this, the better. This is your purpose. Expect no more."
Undoubtedly, motherhood brings us inexpressible joy and true purpose to our souls; the love of a Mother is perhaps the closest earthly form of love to God, the Father's love.
But if that is so, why cannot the many Coptic women who have mastered this love, be called on to teach us how to love?
Why are Coptic girls and women dissuaded from pursuing life paths that encourage self-expression? In the extremity, they are told that artistic pursuits like writing, singing, dancing, painting, etc. are haram if they do not have Coptic teachings as their theme.
These outside pursuits are considered worldly and women who pursue them are cautioned against bringing shame upon themselves and their families. To avoid the pain and isolation of being ostracized, we learn to bend our will; in homogeneity, we find safety, but never lasting peace.
We learn that our struggles are to be expressed privately to family members or fathers of confession -- never in public. And certainly, never, in any way that would suggest the Church's teachings are too often firmly entwined with repressive cultural practices of Egyptian society.
Yet, in choosing to remain silent when our spirit calls us to say something, ensures an uninterrupted misery. It propagates a clear and externally imposed repression of women's voices, a generational trauma, a topic no one is willing to broach. By silencing ourselves in order to "keep the peace", we also divest from our true calling and tacitly ask God to please "choose someone else."
It's been more than 20 years since that university lecture. I've realized writing or not writing is actually a conscious choice between choosing to live in alignment with the Holy Spirit's plan for salvation, or with a limited self and imprisonment disguised as obedience to God's word.
I often wonder what Coptic society would be like if more Coptic women would lead by example -- by rallying their peers -- by telling them not to be ashamed of their private struggles and encouraging them to speak up rather than resign themselves--- especially when life feels unbalanced and the burden of our raising our children seems to fall so unevenly on our shoulders.
We have so much to benefit from sharing our life lessons with each other. By giving ourselves permission to express dissent and focus our minds on the thought "there must be a better way"-- without fear of retaliation or shaming, we can begin to make the incremental changes that will result in a qualitative shift in the lives of Coptic women and girls. Their formative years of our girls could be marked by joyful lessons; they would learn their inestimable worth, with ease; they would not be pressured into marriage before they are psychologically and spiritually ready; they would see themselves as more than reproductive vessels, but as souls endowed with special gifts by God and with a unique purpose.
I'm hoping that if you're reading this entry, then you will join us. Send us short pieces of prose on any topic. Tell us -- describe for us -- what it's like to be you; share your contemplations about Coptic womanhood. We're all ears.