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Domestic abuse is a pervasive issue that affects individuals across all cultures and societies. Despite this, there is a harmful stereotype that domestic abuse is more prevalent or expected in Middle Eastern households. This essay challenges this misconception by exploring the universal nature of domestic abuse and the danger of cultural biases.
If I told you that my Syrian husband was abusive, to the average Westerner, their first response would be: “Well, he’s Syrian. That’s how they are. It’s cultural.” But if I made the same confession to the average Middle Eastern person, particularly to a woman, they would immediately start telling me about what rights I have, not just under the prevailing laws of the country that I live in, but also, many of them would more confidently and more emphatically tell me about my rights according to Islam. Which are plentiful, by the way.
I know this because it’s true. For almost 10 years I have been the victim of domestic abuse at the hands of a Syrian man, and during that time I have, on occasion, broken the façade of ‘coping’ and divulged fragments of the truth to a few select people here and there. And if they were Western, which most of them were, their first response was almost always the same. He’s Syrian. That’s how they are. It’s cultural. Or, more simply, what did you expect?
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Confessions of Domestic Abuse
I can vividly remember that on these occasions, hearing this always caused two key effects in me, usually simultaneously. On one hand, the intellectual adult within me was immediately called into action in order to dispel the mistruths being spoken by the ignorant person standing before me. However, this happens often and is an experience that I have become so comfortable with that it almost comes as second nature.
I have come to the realisation over these many years, you see, that God has sent me to burden the less intellectually fortunate than myself with being challenged by their unintelligent positions on most matters. Its Socratic, and I’m not sorry. That being said, not having the same intellectual dexterity as another person doesn’t necessarily mean that they lack the capacity for empathy. Which is why it is the second response elicited that is the more significant of the two.
On rare occasions, when I was trusting enough to share this vulnerability and was greeted with such emotional and philosophical laziness, it was undeniably hurtful simply by virtue of being a human, no matter the context.
The result was always that I had an immediate and automatic decision to no longer bother telling this person anything ever again, especially about this. Ironically, the worst possible outcome for someone who is secretly and appropriately crying out for help.
For someone to reply to a desperate woman, clinging on to the very essence of herself as the only truth, the only ‘known’ that she has in her life, such a thoughtless, flippant reply can mean only one thing. They have not heard me tell them about my personal experience as an individual. They do not look upon me as simply a girl going through hell and trying to keep it together. They cannot suspend reality for even a moment to imagine themselves standing in my shoes and wonder how that might feel. Because all they have heard and all they sought to hear was a further justification of their own biased perspective on what should be.
Domestic abuse: Who’s fault is it anyway?
Alarmingly, delivering the response that ‘it’s cultural’, isn’t just damaging to the person divulging their torment on a personal level. It is far more extreme than that. It also actively serves to shift the blame for my suffering from that of the abuser onto me, the victim. Signifying that in some way it is to be expected, and therefore it is deserved simply because I chose to go against the natural order of things by trying to exist in a harmonious relationship with a man who is, in the ignorant’s opinion, incapable of that, purely due to the location of his birth and the subsequent environment of his upbringing.
As a quick digression, I might point out that the rates of domestic abuse against women probably don’t vary quite as much as you might think that they would. While the global figure hovers around 30% of women experiencing domestic abuse globally, the region-specific figures range from Africa and Asia at around 37% and 38%, respectively, down to Australia at around 17% and the USA at 25%. Interestingly, though, the region known as MENA, the Middle East, and North Africa has percentages with an average range of 20%–40%, though they swing more widely than that.
At the higher end of the spectrum, there is the astonishingly high figure from Morocco stating that 52% of women have experienced domestic violence in some form (physical, sexual, psychological, or economic) at least once in their lifetime. And yet in Lebanon, the figure is significantly lower at 24%. Just to clarify, that would mean that, if these figures can be relied upon (and yes, I have a list of references as long as your arm), Lebanon has a lower rate of domestic abuse than the USA. Which kind of throws a stick in the spokes of the ‘that’s how they are—it’s a cultural’ argument, doesn’t it? I presume that the best response from the average westerner to my undeniable evidence would be something close to a quote my father loves to use in such situations; don’t confuse me with the facts; my mind’s already made up.
So, what does one in my situation do then? Let me tell you. They further internalise their experiences. Smile more. Pretend better. Attribute blame to oneself more. Take responsibility more. Die a little more. Still managing to draw breath every second while silently screaming on the inside, the way that a new-born baby might do when it is ripped unwittingly from its mother’s loins. Blameless and yet culpable for the decision to be born. The decision to place trust where none should have been placed. Thus is the plight of a western woman being abused by an eastern man. His autonomous choices aren’t considered a valid influencing factor. Because he is Middle Eastern. That’s how they are. Its cultural.
Ok, so maybe it’s not just cultural. But it’s still cultural.
I wonder, then, how things would differ if I divulged to the same audience that I was being abused by a Western man. Would their response be different? Would they more willingly offer up condemnation of his behaviour as being contrary to the cultural norms I myself seem guilty of so flagrantly flouting? It is hard for me to say one way or another. I have been in a relationship with a western man who was extremely controlling and abusive, both emotionally and physically. I can’t say that I distinctly recall anyone being particularly interested in what I was experiencing. I was young at the time—barely 20 in fact. But no, I do not recall anyone coming to my aid in any respect whatsoever. I do recall all but one of my girlfriends abandoning me in my plight because they believed that I had abandoned them.
They didn’t realise that I had been locked in the tower like all the prisoners who displease the king. They were too busy, I suspect, lamenting why they couldn’t find a king as handsome as mine, not realising that his beauty, as with mine, was a fierce curse, particularly when it comes to the attention of an incomplete man. It is a curse that comes with such a steep price. One’s very life. After all, despite the tower being gilded or the jailor being pleasant to the eye, does it make one any less of a prisoner? Is a life without liberty even a life at all? I am inclined to respond that I would argue that, no, it isn’t. But in this instance, I don’t need to hide behind the appropriateness of academic language. I know it isn’t. Because it is true.
Luckily for me, however, one fine day I escaped from that tower. Little did I know that it was just a prelude to what was to come a little further down the road on this journey we call life. Only then, once I was actually free, was I able to divulge the truth to some of those around me. I was able to gain confirmation that, yes, I was a victim of domestic abuse. And yes, it was wrong. And no, I hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
Now, walk with me a little as we discuss. If I were a Middle Eastern woman having the same experience, would I not be deserving of more pity and sympathy? Because in the mind of the Westerner, the systemic oppression of Middle Eastern culture had left me with no way of knowing, and therefore of choosing, any better for myself. I was simply engaging with the world according to the rules that had been written on the back of the box. I wonder. I wonder if anyone really cares about anyone at all, and if people are just so lazy that they would rather avoid the inconvenience of having to actually think.
Domestic Abuse is a Problem of Culture, Ours…
And if that is the truth, then there is far less concern about the experiences of the individual, irrespective of what they may have gone through. How deplorable it might be. How unjustified. Perhaps it is more about that individual’s perceived deservedness of the said consequence. Not because it was fair or justified, but because that person tempted fate by having the sheer audacity to go against the grain of the natural order of things. Like the proverbial woman walking home on her own at night wearing a skirt. I guess, on some level, I asked for it.
I had the gall to practice the disingenuous utopian babble that everyone else preaches. All men are created equal. Because, let’s be honest. No one really believes that. Not deep down. We all just want an easier time of it, and it seems like not being an asshole might be the way to achieve that, but in truth, we can’t sustain our feigned kindness to one another for any significant period of time or across a diverse enough range of situations. Not yet. We’re just not there yet as a species. But I guess we’re only humans. That’s how we are. It’s cultural.
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