Egypt women stand for equality in the square

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Egyptians celebrate Mubarak's fall in Cairo

Egyptians packed Cairo's Tahrir Square on Friday to mark the fall of longtime leader Hosni Mubarak a week ago, and to maintain pressure on the new military rulers to steer the country toward democratic reforms. (Feb. 18)

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Faroak, a 30-year-old lawyer, said that she feels more confident now as she goes to work and that an air of tolerance has persisted and must be maintained lest it dissipate along with the euphoria of victory.

"We were equal partners in this revolution," she said, "and we are respected as such. Now we have to use the moment effectively, to make sure women participate in daily political life, to make sure they are involved in the development of political parties and labor movements."

A new generation

Abdel Ibrahim Hassan, a man who came to Tahrir Square on Friday to celebrate the revolution with untold thousands of his fellow citizens, argued that women have an enviable standing already and that Western prejudices should not assume they need change.

"Islam respected the role of women before any other culture," said Hassan, a math teacher. "Before Islam women were bought and sold. But men and women are not equal, a woman is a weak creature. She cannot bear arms."

His wife, Samah, bearing an Egyptian flag and wearing a black niqab covering her face with only small slits for her eyes, spoke up - strongly. "I'm hoping our young people will be able to develop a democracy," she said, as she photographed the square with a sleek cellphone. "Men and women will play an important part in the elections."

Their 15-year-old daughter, Sarah, her face and hands the only parts of her body visible from her enveloping black garments, interrupted.

"We demand seats in parliament for young people," she said, "men and women. Women will play an important role in society after participating in the revolution of January 25th."

Hassan, who had brought his family from their home 50 miles away in the Sixth of October District, did not contradict her.

"A woman is not as physically strong as a man," Sarah said. "But she has emotional virtues that he does not. A man can carry a wounded person to the hospital, but the woman will nurse him back to health."

Her life, Sarah said, will be different from the lives of her parents. "We will campaign to change the role of women, to improve our education. This is our country, and we will build it with our own hands."

'It is up to us'

Elsewhere in the square, Noha Wagih, a 31-year-old woman with long flowing hair, was handing out information about volunteer and community groups. Earlier she had spoken excitedly about plans to hold classes to teach the constitution, ways to get women politically involved and organizing so that citizens can figure out how to take responsibility after 30 years of being told what to do and think. "Women have been passive," she said. "This has empowered us. Now we can achieve our dreams. It is up to us."

Wagih, who has been working in television and public relations, has been tweeting, sending cheerful Facebook messages and trying to mobilize women to work together for democracy - and their own rights.

Professional urban women such as Wagih live in a different universe from poor village women, many of whom are forced by society or family to have children at an early age, preventing them from having choices about work or education. Domestic abuse is frequent, and social constraints prevent poor women from leaving their husbands. Many toil at low-paying jobs, supporting entire families.

Although they know many obstacles lie ahead, and prospects of success are less than they hope, women here say they have been transformed, whether they were in the square or not.

Ghada Shabandar, who is 48 and works for the Egyptian Organization for Human Rights, was in the square with her 27-year-old daughter. She watched as her daughter grew more adamant, more courageous, more assertive day by day, refusing entreaties to leave, embarrassing her mother into staying.

Back at home, Shabandar's 67-year-old mother worried constantly, calling six or seven times a day on her cellphone, frantic but supportive - and proud.

"Women were in the square," Faroak said. "They cannot go back home."