by Stephanie Hubbard
I was doing a bit of casual Internet surfing the other day when I came across this blog post by Jaqueline Campbell about feminism and femininity. Her post 'My Right to be a Feminist' features on the MTV Staying Alive campaign website as part of their 'Right to be Me' season.
Jaqueline's post is inspiring as she strives to dispel the myths around feminism and expresses that to be a feminist is not a declaration of hatred for all things male nor is it a rejection of female sexuality. She defines her concept of feminism in her powerful parting statement:
'Feminism is my right to say that painting my nails red and studying physics are not mutually exclusive.'
Her post reminded me of a powerful speech given by Eve Ensler, writer of the Vagina Monologues and founder of V Day. Her speech for TED Talks discusses the presence of the 'girl cell' in all of us that we have been taught to suppress.
'I want you to imagine that this girl cell is compassion, and it's empathy, and it's passion itself, and it's vulnerability, and it's openness and it's intensity and it's association, and it's relationship, and it is intuitive.
And then let's think how compassion informs wisdom, and that vulnerability is our greatest strength, and that emotions have inherent logic, which lead to radical, appropriate, saving action. And then let's remember that we've been taught the exact opposite by the powers that be, that compassion clouds your thinking, that it gets in the way, that vulnerability is weakness, that emotions are not to be trusted, and you're not supposed to take things personally, which is one of my favorites.
I think the whole world has essentially been brought up not to be a girl.'
She goes on to share terrible stories of genital mutilation, rape and abuse endured by women the world over. She exposes how much the world degrades, marginalises, tortures and humiliates girls and how little value is placed in them.
'I've seen that we cut girls and we control them and we keep them illiterate, or we make them feel bad about being too smart. We silence them. We make them feel guilty for being smart. We get them to behave, to tone it down, not to be too intense. We sell them, we kill them as embryos. We enslave them. We rape them. We are so accustomed to robbing girls of the subject of being the subjects of their lives that we have now actually objectified them and turned them into commodities.'
Powerful words indeed. Eve also argues that men have a right to embrace their 'girl cell' and suggests that this culture of teaching our boys to suppress emotions of compassion, vulnerability and empathy is the root cause of some of society's biggest problems.
Eve's passionate speech calls us to recognise that to be a girl is not to be weak. Being a girl is to be a powerful, resilient and resourceful being. To be a girl is to be 'an emotional creature' and Eve's piece at the end of her speech is a powerful call to empowerment for everyone with an inner 'girl cell'.
Jaqueline is exercising her right to be a girl and so should we all.
Showing posts with label Stephanie Hubbard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stephanie Hubbard. Show all posts
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Another Me
by Stephanie Hubbard
‘Because … I am afraid what will happen if people know what I have gone through, and because I am a Muslim girl.' (17 year old subject of 'Hidden by the Burkha')
I was at Greenbelt Festival over the August Bank Holiday weekend and whilst meandering around the various tents and stalls I came accross this rather amazing photo exhibition tucked away in one corner of the site.
Although only small reproductions, the photographs displayed had an extraordinary power and presence that made me want to discover more about the project, the photographer and the women involved.
'Another Me' is the name of this exhibition, described as 'Transformations from pain to power'. The subjects, all girls and women aged from 8 to 25 years, are survivors of trafficking, rape or abandonment, or are the children of sex workers.
This unique project is the work of documentary photographer Achinto Bhadra and was conceived by the Terre des hommes Foundation. The images show women dressed in elaborate costumes, face paint and masks which stems from a need to protect their identities but also as an aid to psychological transformation as they reveal hidden facets of their inner selves.
'Achinto's portrait's record trafficking survivors' imaginative visions of themselves as human, animistic and divine beings of power, love, revenge and freedom.' (Another Me website)
My favourite pictures are 'God' 'Durga, The Mother Goddess' and 'The Clown' but each photograph is beautiful from the vivid colours of the costumes to the poignancy of the stories that acompany each image.
To see all of the images and find out more about the project check out their website by clicking here.
Photograph: Hidden by the Burkha by Achinto Bhadra from www.rencontres-arles.com
‘Because … I am afraid what will happen if people know what I have gone through, and because I am a Muslim girl.' (17 year old subject of 'Hidden by the Burkha')
I was at Greenbelt Festival over the August Bank Holiday weekend and whilst meandering around the various tents and stalls I came accross this rather amazing photo exhibition tucked away in one corner of the site.
Although only small reproductions, the photographs displayed had an extraordinary power and presence that made me want to discover more about the project, the photographer and the women involved.
'Another Me' is the name of this exhibition, described as 'Transformations from pain to power'. The subjects, all girls and women aged from 8 to 25 years, are survivors of trafficking, rape or abandonment, or are the children of sex workers.
This unique project is the work of documentary photographer Achinto Bhadra and was conceived by the Terre des hommes Foundation. The images show women dressed in elaborate costumes, face paint and masks which stems from a need to protect their identities but also as an aid to psychological transformation as they reveal hidden facets of their inner selves.
'Achinto's portrait's record trafficking survivors' imaginative visions of themselves as human, animistic and divine beings of power, love, revenge and freedom.' (Another Me website)
My favourite pictures are 'God' 'Durga, The Mother Goddess' and 'The Clown' but each photograph is beautiful from the vivid colours of the costumes to the poignancy of the stories that acompany each image.
To see all of the images and find out more about the project check out their website by clicking here.
Photograph: Hidden by the Burkha by Achinto Bhadra from www.rencontres-arles.com
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Why I will be wearing black this Thursday
by Stephanie Hubbard
I'm in the process of moving house and whilst clearing through the mountains of boxes in my room I came across the diary I kept when I visited India at 18.
I always find it bizarre to read over my scribblings and looking back over the words I wrote makes me cringe a little as I feel I am an entirely different person to the one that wrote this. I wanted to share this experience with you, (almost) word for word as the work I saw on this particular day has become a foundation for what Thursdays in Black means to me.
‘This afternoon we travelled by rickshaw to Maher, a home for abused, exploited and destitute women and children. The journey was a real experience, I will never complain about driving in England again!
The traffic is so erratic with animals and people randomly wandering all over the roads. Drivers seem to use their horns before attempting any manoeuvre. At junctions you are deafened by the cacophony of horns from all vehicles ranging from huge lorries to bicycles and even carts as they are all vying for their place in the hierarchy of the road.
Rickshaw is my favourite way of travelling. Driving through the streets is a real assault on the senses with brightly coloured markets with spices and saris on show, cows sauntering through the city traffic and the smells of incense, sewage and mysterious treats sold by street vendors. All of these colours, smells and sounds are sharpened by the rain which has been falling on and off all day. Although we were drenched to the skin by the puddles we splashed through, the humid air would dry our clothes as soon as the deluge stopped.
At every junction the street children pressed their hands inside the rickshaw begging for money. Many of them are very young and some have been horrifically disfigured to encourage tourists to give more money. Yesterday I saw a boy with no legs pulling himself along on a skateboard, the driver told me it was common for children to be deliberately maimed by adults in this way.
This made me incredibly angry and I was frustrated by how powerless I am to prevent this. By giving money to the children you are proving that the violence is effective but by withholding money the children are punished when they return empty handed. There is no clear right choice and we are forced to ignore their outstretched hands or shout ‘Bas!’ if they get too aggressive to avoid being swamped. The guilt is overwhelming at times.
When we arrived at Maher all the women and children were lined up to greet us. They sang songs and performed a welcoming ceremony, presenting us with garlands of marigolds which the children placed around our necks.
The flowers symbolise sacrifice and are used in many ceremonies here. We were also painted with a red and yellow kum kum on our foreheads by the older girls.
One of the house mothers then came forward and began to tell us the story of how the home had started.
In 1991 a destitute woman came to Sister Lucy while pregnant begging for help. The woman’s husband wanted to kill her as he desired another woman. The sister had to turn the woman away as she had nowhere to house her that night, promising that if she returned the next day she would be able to accommodate her.
That night the woman’s husband doused her in Kerosene and set her alight. Both the woman and the baby died. From that day forward the Sister vowed never to turn away women in that situation and so set up Maher (Mother house) to council and rehabilitate the women, teaching them crafts so they can be re-introduced into the community and stand on their own two feet.
The work they carried out at the Maher house was amazing and it made me feel humble and privileged in my life at home. It is too difficult to describe all of the emotions I felt today but I think people in the UK need to know about what these women are suffering and help support these projects so that people like Sister Lucy will be able to go on helping them.’
It’s hard to see it from these words but India got under my skin like no other country I have visited before or since really. It was here that I first began to realise that development work was becoming a vocation for me. My experiences at Maher have been the driving force behind wanting to promote Thursdays in Black and why I will be wearing black this Thursday.
‘There is a huge task awaiting us, the task of changing the attitude of society, especially of men towards women. This is a gigantic task. Maher is therefore not just a project, it is a vision of a new society where men, women and children have opportunities for growth education and happiness.’ Fr. Francis D’sa
To find out more about the Maher project please go to their website: www.maherashram.org
I'm in the process of moving house and whilst clearing through the mountains of boxes in my room I came across the diary I kept when I visited India at 18.
I always find it bizarre to read over my scribblings and looking back over the words I wrote makes me cringe a little as I feel I am an entirely different person to the one that wrote this. I wanted to share this experience with you, (almost) word for word as the work I saw on this particular day has become a foundation for what Thursdays in Black means to me.
‘This afternoon we travelled by rickshaw to Maher, a home for abused, exploited and destitute women and children. The journey was a real experience, I will never complain about driving in England again!
The traffic is so erratic with animals and people randomly wandering all over the roads. Drivers seem to use their horns before attempting any manoeuvre. At junctions you are deafened by the cacophony of horns from all vehicles ranging from huge lorries to bicycles and even carts as they are all vying for their place in the hierarchy of the road.
Rickshaw is my favourite way of travelling. Driving through the streets is a real assault on the senses with brightly coloured markets with spices and saris on show, cows sauntering through the city traffic and the smells of incense, sewage and mysterious treats sold by street vendors. All of these colours, smells and sounds are sharpened by the rain which has been falling on and off all day. Although we were drenched to the skin by the puddles we splashed through, the humid air would dry our clothes as soon as the deluge stopped.
At every junction the street children pressed their hands inside the rickshaw begging for money. Many of them are very young and some have been horrifically disfigured to encourage tourists to give more money. Yesterday I saw a boy with no legs pulling himself along on a skateboard, the driver told me it was common for children to be deliberately maimed by adults in this way.
This made me incredibly angry and I was frustrated by how powerless I am to prevent this. By giving money to the children you are proving that the violence is effective but by withholding money the children are punished when they return empty handed. There is no clear right choice and we are forced to ignore their outstretched hands or shout ‘Bas!’ if they get too aggressive to avoid being swamped. The guilt is overwhelming at times.
When we arrived at Maher all the women and children were lined up to greet us. They sang songs and performed a welcoming ceremony, presenting us with garlands of marigolds which the children placed around our necks.
The flowers symbolise sacrifice and are used in many ceremonies here. We were also painted with a red and yellow kum kum on our foreheads by the older girls.
One of the house mothers then came forward and began to tell us the story of how the home had started.
In 1991 a destitute woman came to Sister Lucy while pregnant begging for help. The woman’s husband wanted to kill her as he desired another woman. The sister had to turn the woman away as she had nowhere to house her that night, promising that if she returned the next day she would be able to accommodate her.
That night the woman’s husband doused her in Kerosene and set her alight. Both the woman and the baby died. From that day forward the Sister vowed never to turn away women in that situation and so set up Maher (Mother house) to council and rehabilitate the women, teaching them crafts so they can be re-introduced into the community and stand on their own two feet.
The work they carried out at the Maher house was amazing and it made me feel humble and privileged in my life at home. It is too difficult to describe all of the emotions I felt today but I think people in the UK need to know about what these women are suffering and help support these projects so that people like Sister Lucy will be able to go on helping them.’
It’s hard to see it from these words but India got under my skin like no other country I have visited before or since really. It was here that I first began to realise that development work was becoming a vocation for me. My experiences at Maher have been the driving force behind wanting to promote Thursdays in Black and why I will be wearing black this Thursday.
‘There is a huge task awaiting us, the task of changing the attitude of society, especially of men towards women. This is a gigantic task. Maher is therefore not just a project, it is a vision of a new society where men, women and children have opportunities for growth education and happiness.’ Fr. Francis D’sa
To find out more about the Maher project please go to their website: www.maherashram.org
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