Princess: Secrets to Share

by Jean Sasson

  I was personally ecstatic, believing that she meant men and women of Pakistan, yet I never read or heard of Benazir Bhutto making women a priority. From all my research, I have failed to find a single law Bhutto supported to change the status of ordinary Pakistani women. I had followed her campaign promises with great earnest and knew that she had vowed to repeal various laws that were controversial, laws that curtailed the rights of women in her land. But when no reforms were made during her first rule, women’s rights organizations in Pakistan turned away from their female prime minister, making it easy enough for Bhutto to forget about half the population in the country.

  Her careless neglect of women was a mystery to all, since she was a woman living in a land where women are routinely victims of abuse. I first saw Bhutto at a distance once when she was traveling with her father, who was the Pakistani prime minister at the time. I met her once when she was prime minister. I will never forget the occasion. That date was January 11, 1989, after she had traveled to Saudi Arabia to meet with my uncle King Fahd, on January 10. Her trip to Saudi was her first official visit abroad after assuming office in Pakistan.

  While the men of my family were uneasy with a female ruling a Muslim nation, King Fahd had always had a special affection and respect for women, even admitting to an innocent crush on Margaret Thatcher, the British prime minister. Therefore, he was pleased to welcome Bhutto to the kingdom, despite the fact Saudi women at that time were not allowed to participate in any public forums or meetings, although the situation is not much improved even today.

  From what we were told, the meeting was friendly and plans were made to solve certain problems, such as the 3 million refugees from Afghanistan that Pakistan was struggling to maintain (the war with Russia had created a huge exodus from that country into Pakistan). Our king Fahd generously offered to assist Pakistan with financial aid.

  I recall my father saying that Bhutto had promised King Fahd to make Pakistan as prosperous as Japan. This did not happen, as we all now know, but with her knowledge of economics, there appeared to be much hope in her heart to bring economic change to the country she loved.

  There was one function where twelve Saudi princesses were invited with their husbands to meet Bhutto, and I was one of the token twelve, as we lightheartedly called ourselves. Before the social function ended, though, I felt bitter disappointment.

  Despite the fact we were both women living in countries that discriminated against females, I felt her scorn for me as a Saudi woman of the royal family. This, I believe, is because Saudi women have never been allowed in any ruling position, while she was respected and encouraged by her intelligent and influential father from the time she was a young girl. During the function, when I gained an opportunity to speak to Bhutto, I attempted to discuss the special problems faced by women in our countries, but I was brushed off with some superficial small talk and she soon turned away from me to address a powerful man from my family.

  I walked away, feeling the dejection keenly. I will always marvel that most powerful women do not make the lives of other women a priority in all things. Until this happens, women will forever remain in secondary positions in many countries.

  I always wished that Bhutto had made the plight of Pakistani women a cornerstone of her government when she had the power to do so. When she was assassinated on December 27, 2007, I felt true grief that she was dead and sorrow that while alive a wonderful opportunity had been missed by that intelligent and capable woman. I had always hoped that she would return to power and realize her mistake in not supporting the women of her land, a country that is so important in the world of nations.

  Women must support other women; we must stand as one in the fight for equality, whether our background is high or low on the economic scale. Without this support from all sides, women will always be fighting for the right to live with dignity.

  Amani nudged me, “Are you watching, Mommy?”

  My thoughts had strayed to what might have been, but I had seen enough of the documentary to know that Amani and I would offer our support to Princess Sabrina. While I could not travel to Pakistan and play an active role in the care of the acid-scarred girls and women, there would be funds made available. I knew that this would bring great relief to Amani and Sabrina, and hopefully would pave the way for the disfigured victims to regain some semblance of normal life.

  Despite the fact that I will not meet these women face-to-face, I will never forget those featured in the documentary with Dr. Jawad.

  One victim, named Zakia, lives in my heart. As a woman who suffered abuse for many years, she felt she had no option but to seek a divorce from her brutal husband. Courageously, she pursued her case through the courts, and on the day she appeared for the hearing she faced her furious husband, who was incensed that she had dared to seek a divorce; according to him, she was his property. He owned her.

  As Zakia left the courtroom, her husband leaped up and threw the corrosive battery acid directly at her face. Her left eye and cheek and her nose melted under the burning chemical. She felt unimaginable pain as her scars tightened, making it nearly impossible for her to eat, drink, or even smile.

  Another woman named Rukhsana is the saddest case of all. The memory of her story will be with me as long as I am on this earth. In fact, I have posted her photograph in my quarters lest I let a day pass without praying for her well-being. As horrific as Zakia’s story is, Rukhsana’s is even more harrowing. Her husband and his entire family plotted to kill her in the most gruesome manner possible because she dared to leave the house with her children without permission. She returned after her visit but that mattered little. Three monsters were in waiting.

  The husband threw the acid, his sister poured gasoline, and her mother-in-law lit the match. Rukhsana rolled on the floor, writhing in agony, nearly burnt burned nearly to death. She survived, but with the gravest of injuries. She remains in the home where she was attacked, hoping for the opportunity to see her daughter, who the family keeps from her. Isolated and in pain, Rukhsana is living behind a brick wall.

  This lonely tragic woman’s life is too wretched to imagine.

  At the end of the film, when the screen turned to black, my daughter and I sat silently, for such a film causes emotional shock. But before I could recover to think, Amani said that she had much more to tell. My daughter walked to the corner of the room and retrieved a large folder holding many more photographs of women whose lives had been forever ruined.

  I looked at an image that Amani warned was supposed to be a woman, yet I saw no face. Eyes and nose and lips were gone. There were two large blackened holes where eyes had once been, and two smaller holes where once there was a nose. The former mouth was now nothing more than an open gap showing protruding teeth without lips.

  There are many others like this poor, unfortunate being, girls and women whose lives have been utterly ruined by men who believe that such attacks are justified if a wife makes a decision to leave an abusive marriage, or if a girl refuses a proposal, or even if a young woman dares to attend school. Or, like Rukhsana, she leaves her home without permission. While some surgeries can be performed to alleviate pain, it is impossible to replace eyes that have been burned to nothing. Indeed, most of the women who are victims of acid attacks are left blinded. In all my years of working with abused women, nothing feels crueler to me than this kind of assault.

  My daughter was waiting for my response.

  “Amani, darling, why does the government of Pakistan not make this brutal crime a top priority?”

  Amani quickly answered my question. “Sabrina was told that government officials believe that acid attacks tarnish the image of their country, and so they prefer that the crime be ignored. They do not want Pakistan to attract this kind of attention. Even the families of the victims are pressured to keep quiet due to the social stigma.”

  Suddenly, I felt very weary. Without the firm leadership of government, how would such crimes be stopped? Truly, I felt all the life
drain from my body. What cruelty! What agony! What pain! My heart felt shattered to think of the women who were personally afflicted with indescribable pain, heartbreak, loneliness, and shame.

  Such cruelty has the ability to tear hearts into little pieces.

  And that is what I felt when I heard the roar of my daughter Maha. Her shouts alerted the household that all was not well.

  Kareem was early!

  Abdullah was late!

  I clutched Amani, as she leapt leaped to her feet to flee the room. “No, Daughter, we shall will face this together. This will pass and all will be well.”

  As I gazed at my youngest child, with her smooth skin, her beautiful eyes, I felt my strength return. The faces of my children and grandchildren were undamaged—they were safe.

  From that moment, I knew that every personal problem I encountered would be judged against the extreme challenges faced by so many Pakistani women.

  Somehow I found strength to look upon Maha when she rushed into the room with the most indignant expression. When Maha saw her sister, she made straight for Amani’s face, with hands outstretched and long nails reaching to attack.

  I screeched so loudly that Maha temporarily halted.

  I pleaded, “Maha, Daughter! Save your strength to fight the men who rape women, or throw acid upon them. Save your strength, Daughter!”

  Maha lunged past me to her sister.

  I had seen the flash of lightning. Now I awaited the sound of thunder.

  7 - Dr. Meena

  As Maha loomed menacingly over us, I was suddenly reminded that my eldest daughter is very tall, many inches higher than her mother and sister. The truth is that most Saudi princesses are tall. We surprise those unfamiliar with our family, as most expect delicate women of a short stature. Saudi men are the reason for this, as they have various requirements that they press their mothers and sisters to pursue when looking for a suitable bride, and one of the most important is that any future wife be large and strong.

  Saudi men long for beautiful brides, as do most men in every culture. Of course there are other requisites besides beauty and height when “searching for a bride” in my country: money and power are also desired. There is no more coveted bride in my

  country than one who is beautiful, tall, wealthy, and of a powerful family.

  But while most will understand the desire for power, wealth, and beauty, seeking women who have unusually sizable statures is met with disbelief by those who come to know the little secrets of our society and culture. The reason for this obsession with height is that our men covet big and strong sons who will tower over other men. Do not forget that the country of Saudi Arabia was formed from various areas within a huge land; my grandfather, who was a fierce warrior king, felt an urgent need for many large, strong sons to gain an advantage on the battlefield. These sons he had with his many wives. Therefore, Saudi men have always sought tall wives who will produce tall sons. Due to the habit of tall men marrying tall women, many al-Saud men are well over six feet, while women in the royal family often rival their husbands in height. The genes that determine a tall body flourish in my family.

  Despite the large physical size of many of the al-Saud females, most women in our family spend their days and nights relaxing while visiting with other family members or sampling delicious foods prepared by world-famous chefs. We are a family who believes that pampering is beneficial for one’s health. While some royals do move about while dancing at weddings, most prefer the physically casual life. You will rarely see a Saudi princess exercising or exerting herself in any way. Perhaps that is why so many of my royal cousins have fought obesity and diabetes as the years of life have passed.

  But Maha is strikingly different from most royal women in our family. While she is similar in height to many of her cousins, she is also very strong. She was always an active girl, enjoying sports with her brother. Since becoming an adult, she has increased her physical strength through weight training, bodybuilding, and cycling. Perhaps living in Europe has encouraged her to embrace the exercise craze. But at least she is not an exercise extremist. Thanks be to Allah, she has not developed huge muscles such as the ones I have seen on females on some television shows in the United States and in Europe. Such female muscles are looked upon with admiration in the Western world—as I know that such activity takes enormous time and devotion. But truthfully, that kind of muscle strength in a woman perturbs and even frightens people from the East. We are not accustomed to women who enjoy flexing their muscles while wearing a bikini. Just as our veiled women draw unwanted stares and attention in the west, bikini-clad muscle builders induce an identical reaction in Saudi Arabia.

  The lack of physical activity of Saudi women stems from deeply entrenched traditions of discrimination against females. A shocking fact is that girls and women are not allowed to participate in sports activities without written permission from their male guardian. Saudi men follow the culture, government, and religious clerics, all of whom have always frowned upon the athletic endeavors of women. The religious clerics have denounced the move for physical education as a “Western innovation” and claim that such activities will end in infidelity and even prostitution.

  Such statements cause my blood to reach a point of boiling. I sometimes feel that the religious clerics in my land detest the fact that women are living, breathing creatures who that might enjoy activities other than serving a man.

  Therefore, until 2014, physical education classes for females were forbidden in state-run schools in Saudi Arabia. This is a country where one will never witness groups of girls enjoying sports. However, this situation is beginning to change, mainly due to the International Olympic Committee (IOC), which has lately encouraged various Muslim countries, including Saudi Arabia, to allow women to participate in the Olympic Games.

  Saudi Arabia had never before sent a female athlete to any Olympic Games. But in 2010, the IOC made it a requirement for every national delegation to have at least one female athlete on the roster. Thus we entered our first female competitor in the Youth Olympic Games in Singapore, a young woman by the name of Dalma Rushdi Malhas. Dalma successfully completed in the equestrian challenge, winning our country’s only medal, a bronze. It, of course, lifted my heart to a soaring height and I leaped with joy that our only medal winner was the lone woman.

  Despite this breakthrough, our struggles continued when it was discovered that Saudi Arabia had no plans to send females to the 2012 Olympic Games in London. There was panic in our royal family when there was talk of Saudi Arabia being forbidden from participating in that Olympics. Such a thing would cause our people to lose face. Over the loud objections of the religious clerics, the men of my family buckled, reluctantly agreeing to allow two women to represent us. This groundbreaking decision was a big victory for Saudi women.

  The two females who were chosen to attend were sixteen-year-old Wojdan Shaherkani, who was entered into the judo competition, and nineteen-year-old Sarah Attar, who ran in the 800-meter event. There was a big debate over the headscarf my government required Wojdan to wear. But after some negotiation, she was allowed to wear a swim cap rather than a loose head covering that might get tangled during the judo competition. Although Wojdan lost to Puerto Rico’s representative, most Saudi women keenly enjoyed the symbolic victory of her presence.

  While Sarah did not impress the crowd with her speed, she was soundly cheered, for all there knew the challenges she had overcome to represent our male-dominated nation.

  I know from what my husband has told me that both of these young women were warned to avoid speaking about the issues of gender discrimination that grips our land so tightly; that is why no one saw the girls giving lengthy interviews. They were required to behave modestly, and that is what they did, before they returned home.

  Although physical education was not allowed in schools when Maha was young, she has always dedicated time and attention to health issues. Now in her late twenties, she can claim the spot of being in the
best physical condition of anyone in our immediate family. On the other hand, her sister, Amani, is petite and delicate; she shuns anything to do with exercise, although a few years ago she did employ an aerobics trainer. The entire situation was most amusing to her brother, Abdullah, because rather than do any exercise Amani spent the allotted time trying to convert her instructor to Islam. Amani did not succeed, as the trainer was a devout Christian. Thankfully, the two women remained affable, her aerobics teacher being very tolerant of my religiously assertive daughter.

  I now admit that my daughters’ personalities align with their body types, as Maha defends herself physically, if necessary, while Amani psychologically manipulates all situations in order to get her way.

  I have never sought to gain physical strength, but now I was regretting this choice, as Maha was on us in a flash. Although my daughter exhibited no violence toward her mother, merely pushing me aside as easily as if I were a child, she showed her sister little mercy. When I saw that Maha had gripped Amani in a headlock, I gasped, “Maha, no!”

  As Maha began to twist Amani’s head, I felt terror in my heart. That kind of forceful rotation could cause severe injury, so I leapt leaped into the fray. Although I am not large or strong, it was my duty to rescue my child. To my despair, I quickly realized that I could do nothing to save Amani from Maha’s grip. My youngest daughter was pulling at her own head with her hands, but she simply wasn’t strong enough. All she could do was scream. Thanks be to Allah, Kareem remains youthful and is still fast on his feet. He very carefully separated our daughters, pulling Maha’s hands and arms slowly from Amani’s head and neck as though if he was were unwinding an octopus from its prey. I said a small prayer of thanks that Maha only has two arms rather than eight!