I wonder if I would have been a different person if I hadn’t been cut
by Anonymous Age: 26 Country: India / United States I was about 6 years old when I was taken to a clinic. One doctor and one nurse conducted the “surgery”. It took less than a minute to do it. I was told that there was a worm which the doctor was going to remove. The pain was for a split second and when I went to pee afterward the cotton that the nurse had stuffed in my underwear had blood on it. I was lucky to have no burning sensation or pain while peeing. Later, I was asked to not discuss this experience with anyone: “It’s a secret,” they said. So I never knew what happened to me and why. In my teenage years, I learned that my other Bohra friends and cousin sisters experienced it too. I learned that it was called circumcision when I was studying anthropology in college. I read about horrible stories that women in Africa went through. I am thankful that, unlike other friends who were taken to some lady’s dingy house, I was taken to a clinic. But I was horrified when I learned the reason behind this act. I wonder if I’d be a different person if I hadn’t been circumcised.
‘All FGM causes trauma and pain’: A great video speaking of FGM/C as a collective struggle.
A note on terminology and why Sahiyo uses FGC
By Mariya Taher When I was in graduate school in 2008 for my Master of School Work degree, I began seriously and thoroughly researching the topic of Female Genital Cutting (FGC). Some of you reading this blog might already be aware of my personal connection to the issue due to the research and writings I have been doing on this issue for close to nine years now. (See more at Underground: American Who Underwent Female Genital Mutilation Comes Forward to Help Others). Upon researching FGC, I learned that there were many different terms given to the practice. Terms such as Female Circumcision, Female Genital Mutilation, Female Genital Cutting, Female Genital Surgeries, Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting, Khatna, and other native terms used by other communities who continued FGC. The terminology used for this practice has been the subject of debate amongst academics, activists, as well as the communities continuing the practice as well. However, the debate does not revolve around what is the correct name but relates to the viewpoint an individual has towards understanding the practice and their feelings towards the perpetuation of the practice. In other words, for those continuing the practice, colloquial terms like khatna or female circumcision are preferred. Many activists working to end the practice of FGC choose to use the term Female Genital Mutilation, believing that this term correctly identifies the harm being done to a girl child’s genitalia. None of these terms are incorrect. They all refer to the same practice. And when Sahiyo works with community members, we use the terminology that they use to refer to the practice. This means if someone uses the term ‘khatna’, we use khatna. If someone uses the term female genital mutilation, we use female genital mutilation. There are reasons, however, that we do choose to use female genital cutting or FGC when referring to the practice. Dawoodi Bohras use the word “khatna” or circumcision to refer to the removal of the prepuce from the genitalia of both boys and girls. There is a sentiment amongst some in the community, that the form of “female circumcision” practiced in the Dawoodi Bohra community is in no way related to “FGM” as recognized by World Health Organization or as practiced in many African countries. Sahiyo believes, however, that “female circumcision” cannot be directly compared with male circumcision. We choose, therefore, in large part to use the term FGC or khatna because we are attempting to work with the community and we recognize that if in our everyday language we use FGM, it makes our work much more difficult — we know from research and best practices, that to engage in dialogue and to create social change, we can not come from a hostile position and some community members view the term mutilation with suspicion. This suspicion, in turn, makes it difficult for us to engage with people willing to discuss the topic. Sahiyo also recognizes that the term ‘mutilation’ comes with the connotation of ‘intending to harm’ and as activists engaging in dialogue with communities to abandon the practice, by not using ‘mutliation’ we recognize that communities are not intending to harm their daughters. Rather they may continue FGC because they truly believe it is in the girl’s best interest and/or they may feel pressured into having FGC done on their daughter by others in the community. The term ‘mutilation’ can be riddled with a judgemental tone which can work against FGC activists working to end the practice as Gannon Gillespie mentions on Tostan’s website: We should remember that all of us, no matter where we are from, tend to greet judgmental outsiders in similar ways. When our beliefs and actions are challenged or condemned by a stranger, we are likely to become defensive; rather than taking their concerns to heart, we view their accusation as an unwarranted and uninformed attack on our character. We certainly won’t feel inclined to change in order to satisfy this judgmental critic; we may even respond by holding on more tightly to the belief or action being questioned. Our experience has shown us that it is dialog and discussion that can lead to change, and dialog requires a relationship of trust and respect. But calling the practice “mutilation” prevents this relationship from developing and invites defensiveness rather than productive discourse. Besides these reasonings, a recent report by Islamic Relief Canada, Female Genital Cutting in Indonesia: A Field Study, showcases that specific terminology can also lead to retraumatization of survivors as the quote below from the study demonstrates: While Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) appears to be the term used most frequently by international agencies, experiences from community-based interventions indicate that the term ‘mutilation’ can, in some instances, actually add to the traumatisation of an individual. Girls and women who have undergone FGC can feel victimised, stigmatised and offended by the word ‘mutilation’ and its derogatory connotations. In general, it is important that any intervention strategies do not actually add to the trauma already felt by females who have had to undergo the practice, and referring to people as ‘mutilated’ – while correctly identifying the severity of the practice – has the potential of traumatising sufferers even more. Sahiyo recognizes that to work at the community level and to advocate for the abandonment of FGC, we must first acknowledge that FGC is viewed as a social norm in practicing communities. Dialogue and discussion can only occur if communities themselves are willing to engage with us, and through our own work, we have learned to understand the importance of looking at our language choices. To read more on the use of FGC terminology, please visit Tostan FAQ: FGC vs. FGM.
No, even ‘symbolic’ or ‘mild’ female genital cutting is NOT okay
Should mild forms of Female Genital Cutting (FGC) be legalised? Should supposedly “harmless” nicking or slicing of clitoral tissue be medicalised, simply because getting communities to completely stop FGC happens to be a very difficult task? There has always been some support for mild, medicalised FGC, chiefly from communities that claim to practice female “circumcision” and see it as completely different and divorced from any form of genital “mutilation”. And for years, this view has been firmly refuted by survivors and activists who don’t want any girl to experience the trauma, betrayal and potential harm that even the least severe forms of FGC can cause. But recently, support for mild, “symbolic” genital cutting came from the most unexpected source – The Economist, a prestigious weekly news magazine headquartered in London. In an editorial on June 18, titled ‘An agonising choice’, The Economist presented a baffling argument: since global campaigns to bring about a “blanket ban on FGM” have been unsuccessful for 30 years, it is “time to try a new approach”, in which governments could ban the “worst forms” of genital cutting and instead “persuade” parents to choose the “least nasty version”. “However distasteful, it is better to have a symbolic nick from a trained health worker than to be butchered in a back room by a village elder,” the article says. As was to be expected, The Economist has since faced some much-deserved backlash from indignant survivors and activists. Several NGOs and media publications have termed The Economist’s stand as irresponsible, and UK-based NGO Orchid Project has also started a petition to get the magazine to withdraw the article. But a disturbing response – in praise of the irresponsible article – has emerged from some quarters of the Dawoodi Bohra community. The Bohras predominantly practice the “mild” forms of FGC that The Economist has advocated for – slicing off the prepuce or clitoral hood, and in some cases, nicking or pricking of the prepuce. And in the past few days, some Bohras began to circulate Whatsapp messages amongst themselves claiming that “for the first time, a prestigious paper writes something in our favour, and has challenged WHO and the anti-FGM lobbyists”. (Even The Guardian has mentioned this response from conservative Bohras in its report on the negative impact of The Economist’s article.) In this context, it is more vital than ever for us in the Dawoodi Bohra community to speak out against such misguided views. Should activists like us agree to “compromise” for the sake of respecting cultural traditions? Should we condemn female genital “mutilation” – the severe forms that involve cutting the whole clitoris and more – while condoning female “circumcision”? Should we say it is okay for Bohras and other communities to let medical professionals snip off a mere little pinch of skin from a little girl’s clitoral prepuce? Our answer is a resounding NO. Even the mildest, most “symbolic” type of female genital cutting is a form of gender violence. A significantly large number of Bohras cut their 7-year-old daughters because they believe it is a means of controlling a woman’s sexuality. If a girl is not circumcised, they say, she will have stronger sexual urges and she is likely to have pre-marital or exra-marital affairs. What is this if not blatant patriarchy, which denies women a right to their own bodies and attempts to police her “character”? Then there is a growing section of Bohras who claim that the circumcision they practice is merely “clitoral unhooding”, a procedure that they claim enhances sexual pleasure by exposing the clitoral glans. There are many things wrong with this argument. One, clitoral unhooding is a medical procedure that some adult, sexually active women can choose to undergo if they have excessive prepuce tissue that happens to interfere with orgasms, whereas “circumcision” is done on all young, sexually inexperienced girls, without their consent,even if their prepuce tissue is not excessive. Unnecessary removal of the clitoral hood could leave the clitoris vulnerable to abrasions or over-stimulation. But the other major issue with promoting “unhooding” is the supposed reason behind it. Altering a little girl’s genitals in order to “enhance” her adult sexual life is also a form of trying to control a woman’s body without her consent. Once again, it amounts to gender-based violence. Of course, there are also Bohras who claim female circumcision is done for religious “purity” and cleanliness. This is laughable. In a community that places so much emphasis on taharat (hygeine) and washing one’s genitals thoroughly during “istinja”, do we really need to cut off a little bit of natural skin tissue simply in the name of cleanliness? The argument simply doesn’t stand. If The Economist and its supporters believe that “mild” FGC is so harmless, then why do it at all? What is so repulsive about that little tip of God-given skin that entire communities are willing to fight the tides of progressive change in order to retain their culture of snipping it off? Why do these communities choose to dismiss the voices of the women who have suffered physically, psychologically and sexually because of these very “mild” cuts? Why do communities insist on getting into a girl’s underpants instead of staying out of them? Ultimately, one cannot escape the fact that any form of FGC is an attempt to control women’s bodies and, by extension, their minds and beings. Allowing supposedly symbolic FGC to continue will not solve this problem. And finally, a word on The Economist’s defeatist attitude: did anyone really expect a deep-rooted practice like FGC to come to a complete halt after just 30 years of campaigning? If social change were possible that quickly, America wouldn’t be struggling with racism 50 after the Civil Rights movement, India would not be seeing rabid casteism nearly 70 years after Independence, and women wouldn’t still be fighting for their most basic rights. If we opt for compromise simply because the fight for an FGC-free world is so exhausting, we would be failing future generations
Art: A Tool for Healing and Dialogue with Communities Affected by FGM
By Naomi Rosen Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting (FGM/C), although often surrounded by secrecy and taboo, is now discussed more frequently in the media. Activist groups such as Sahiyo are taking great steps to heighten awareness and dialogue, within relational, familial, and community contexts, because the practice is often hidden, shameful, and the subject is therefore avoided. In many cultures and contexts, it is already difficult to talk about women’s bodies and women’s sexuality, but when talking about FGM/C, the discomfort and silence are compounded by generations of tradition, ideas about what it means to be feminine and pure, religious beliefs, and a multitude of other reasons dependent on geographical, cultural, religious, and personal contexts. Art is a helpful tool and medium in supporting communities affected by FGM/C to express and explore the topic of FGM/C in a way that feels less threatening and can allow for more openness and dialogue. Creative practices allow for what is secret and taboo to be brought to light. It encourages the exploration of what is unexplainable through words, and allows for the unheard to be spoken aloud, and for individuals to truly listen to and empathize with one another. Art can heal emotional wounds through the creation of meaning-making and metaphor. This year as a German Chancellor Fellow through the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation and under the guidance of Tobe Levin von Gleichen, I have been interviewing organizations and individuals in Germany, but also more broadly in Europe and the United States, to explore how the arts can serve as a tool for trauma healing and dialogue with communities affected by FGM/C and other forms of Gender-Based Violence. I have learned creative practices are utilized with communities affected by FGM/C and the unique role the arts can serve. The purpose of compiling this information through my various interviews is to create a handbook to support organizations, practitioners, and direct-service providers in utilizing art and creative approaches in their daily practice. The handbook seeks to expand the definition of “art” to include storytelling, gardening, cooking, and more. It will suggest unique ways to use the arts, from generating intergenerational dialogue to creating spaces for prevention and awareness-raising in gender violence. The resulting publication will also contain descriptions of the organizations I have interviewed and their contact information so that these organizations can be connected with one another and to other individuals for future collaboration and knowledge-sharing. While FGM/C is a custom that for generations has been hidden, the utilization of the arts can create the opportunity for healing from potential traumatic responses as a result of the practice, as well as fostering dialogue that may not be possible otherwise. For more information, please contact Naomi Rosen at naomirrosen@gmail.com For more information on Tobe Levin von Gleichen and her publishing company, UnCut Voices Press, visit the blog https://uncutvoices.wordpress.com ———————————————————————- Naomi Rosen lives in Frankfurt, Germany. After completing at B.S. in Theater at Northwestern University, she was a Northwestern University Public Interest Program Fellow (NUPIP), where she witnesses the role art and theater can play in healing and change in working with at-risk youth. She went on to pursue her Masters in Social Work at University of Chicago’s School of Social Service Administration where she specialized in Trauma-Informed Practice, Creative Arts Therapies, LGBTQ Affirmative Practice, and Multicultural, Multisystemic Practice with trainings at Live Oak Therapy Practice. Naomi is currently a German Chancellor Fellow through the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation where she is writing a handbook about arts-based methods to support communities affected by FGM and other forms of Gender-Based Violence.
Cafe Dissensus runs a special issue on female circumcision in the Bohra community
Cafe Dissensus, an alternative magazine about dissenting art, culture, literature and politics, has run a special May issue focusing solely on female genital cutting or khatna in the Dawoodi Bohra community. Guest-edited by Australian author Rashida Murphy, the FGC-special issue features fifteen essays and deeply personal stories by survivors of khatna and women who are driving the movement against the practice in the Bohra community. In her editorial, Murphy writes about her own escape from the cut and a tense summer in which she had to guard her young daughter from relatives who were keen to have her cut. Masooma Ranalvi, who founded Speak Out on FGM, discusses the anatomy of an unprecedented movement in the Bohra community. Dilshad and Shaheeda Tavawalla provide a comprehensive history of the Bohra faith and the fight against khatna. The many personal narratives of women who underwent the blade – Zehra, Sherebanu, Sultana, Zarine, Saleha, Fatema – reveal how long-lasting the trauma of khatna can be. The issue also features essays by various Sahiyo co-founders: Insia Dariwala speaks of survivor’s guilt and being “uncut“, Mariya Taher seeks to understand the burden of tradition, Aarefa Johari explores the relationship women have with their clitoris and in a joint essay, Mariya and Aarefa converse about the strength that survivors draw from each other. Read the full Cafe Dissensus issue here.
They were going to take a worm from my body
Today, I Call Myself A SURVIVOR Of FGM
By Zarine Hashim Age: 36 Country: Melbourne, Australia The memory of the fateful day is very clear in my mind. It was a Saturday, and like every Saturday, mom, my older sis and I were headed to our grandparent’s home to spend the day there. I always eagerly awaited the weekend, as we always had so much fun there and got spoilt with yummy snacks, lollies and an occasional movie. This day was different! Upon reaching my grandparent’s home, I noticed my gran was ready to leave for somewhere she had to be. She said to me that she was going to see her friends and I could come along. I was quite excited about the outing. Little did I realize that this would be a trip I would want to forget about! We walked into the bohra mohalla in Pune and went up a flight of stairs of a very dingy looking apartment building. We were greeted by a woman at the door who ushered us into the house. On entering the room, I noticed two other women sitting on a carpet laid out. One of the women asked me to take my undies off and lay on the floor. I was very confused and looked at my grandmother who said it was ok and I should do as I was told. So I did and as soon as I laid down, one of the ladies spread my legs and pinned them and the other two pinned my arms above my head. I remember fighting to get free but they were too strong for me. Then I felt this sharp pain and screamed in agony. It was all over quickly, but it felt like a very long time. I was very scared and closed my eyes. The lady then wrapped a gauze like bandage around my private parts, almost like a nappy and I was instructed not to mention this to anyone. The other lady said, ‘You’re going to get a new underwear’, and I remember thinking that I just wanted to go home to my mom. This is how vividly I remember the fateful day, but until I signed a petition to stop this practice four years ago, all this was a suppressed memory, buried away! I’m not sure how it has affected me physically, but it sure has affected me on a mental level. I still shudder every time I talk, think, or read about FGM and tears just roll out. I felt cheated. But today I call myself a survivor and not a victim. I feel empowered by being a part of a group of very strong, brave and driven women and together we are fighting to see an end to this barbaric practice. I have a two year old daughter and I am very blessed to have her in my life and as a symbolic representation of my endurance and perseverance.
They would call the “bhoot” if I didn’t stop screaming
(Trigger Warning: Below is the account of one woman’s experience with FGC. We thank her for being brave and sharing her story with us.) By Fatema Kabira Age: 19 Country: India Seven years old. I was seven years old when they forced me to have a part of my femininity cut off. I don’t remember much from my childhood. My memories are very vague. Yet, despite my poor memory, I clearly remember the day I was circumcised. That day is a vivid memory. My grandmother and mom told me I was going for a sitabi (a celebration for women and girls). I used to love sitabis when I was a kid. So, I got really excited and eagerly awaited going to the sitabi. I even insisted to my mom that I wear my new clothes and topi. After dressing up in my favourite clothes, I left with my grandmother and mom to go to the sitabi. We didn’t end up attending any sitabi and instead we went to a place that was unfamiliar to me. It was an old looking building. The steps were covered with dust and were broken. I was confused why we were there. We went inside somebody’s house and were greeted by a middle-aged woman whom I failed to recognize. I asked my mom what was going on, but she ignored me. The house was small with only one room, kitchen, and a storage unit attached to the ceiling. The one room was dim and gloomy and gave out an eerie feeling. The Aunty chatted with us for a while and then went inside another room to bring something back. When she came out she had a blade and 2 or 3 other items in her hands (I can’t recall what they were). She came and sat in front of me. My mind went blank. I thought, ‘Blade?’ ‘For what?’ My grandmother then asked me to remove my pants. Innocently, I told them I did not want to use their washroom. My 7 years old brain could not comprehend any other reason why my grandmother would ask me to remove my pants. And that too in front of an unknown woman since my grandmother knows how shy I was even in front of my own mother. But I obliged to my grandmother’s request. They made me lie down and held my hands firmly to the ground. Next thing I remember is the sight of the silver blade and a sharp agonizing pain in my most intimate area. I screamed in terror. What did they do? The Aunty told me to keep quiet or she will call the “bhoot” (ghost) that stayed in her storage unit. I didn’t oblige to them this time. I screamed and yelled and tried to free myself. It was all in vain. They did what they wanted to do. It was all over. I cried all the way home. It hurt every time I urinated. The sight of the blood made me sick. I was hurt and angry and confronted my mother about this. She told me she was under religious obligation and she did what thought was the right thing to do at that time. Fortunately, I didn’t face any medical repercussions due to the unhygienic and brutal way in which I was circumcised. But it has left a psychological impact on me. I feel disgusted, ashamed, and angry at what has been done to me. There is no reason that justifies this barbaric practice. There is no reason that justifies taking away women’s inherent physical rights and ability to experience pleasure. Young girls are scarred for life and this needs to be stopped.
‘If Allah has sent us whole, why should we cut for the sake of God?’
(Trigger Warning: The story below is a powerful account of one woman’s memory of FGC. We are grateful to her for sharing with us the details of her experience.) By Saleha Paatwala Country: Noida, India Age: 23 I was 7 years of age when one day my grandma took me to an unfamiliar place. I was informed that it would be a huge gathering and children like me would come as well. We came to the second floor where we were advised to sit by a woman as old as my grandma. It didn’t appear to be exceptionally happening, and out of sheer interest I asked her why we were there – to which she just grinned and said that everybody was en route. What happened next will continue to haunt me until the end of time. After an hour, one more woman came in and asked us to follow her. It was a miserable room on the terrace, small and messy. My grandma and I sat on the little bed. The woman took out some cotton, blade and some harsh fabric and I just couldn’t comprehend what was occurring. She asked me to lie down, but I was very young and could never have imagined anything terrible could happen. I just couldn’t understand what was happening. I believed my grandma and sat down when she insisted. The other woman now began removing my underwear. This sickened the hellfire out of me. I began fighting back, at which every one of the women, including my grandma, held my hands and feet tight so that I could not move. I was yelling as loud as possible, but no one was listening. After she had successfully taken off my underwear, the second woman spread my legs, grabbed the blade and cut something between my legs. The pain was anguishing and intolerable and it gave me an injury. She then put some cotton on that part and put my clothing back on. My grandma and two other women began giggling and saying, “Mubarak ho, iska khatna ho gaya hai.” (Congratulations, she has been circumcised). At that age, who has ever considered going through such an agony in the most intimate area that no youngster would even like anybody to see or touch? I didn’t really see the amount of blood that had gushed out because I had no courage to. Only after I reached home and went to pee, I saw the cotton and figured it out. I couldn’t urinate properly for three days as it tormented me that much. All these years, I never had the boldness to open up and discuss this. My grandma told me that ladies get to be devout after completing khatna, and I accepted that. Then one day, we were shown a film on Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) at my college. It gave me goosebumps and took me all the way back to my childhood when I had been through this assault. In that film, my own community members were spreading awareness and battling this practice. It made me realise, unmistakably, that what happened wasn’t beneficial for me, wasn’t useful for anyone. That little film gave me so much courage that I can now share my dim story with everybody, even though it is still a taboo. There is no religious aspect to this ritual. It is only a practice, a hazardous and destructive custom which is being perpetuated by individuals. It wasn’t just a little piece. It was a piece of me, my private area that no one has a right to touch without my consent. If Allah has sent us whole, why should we cut for the sake of god, to make a lady pious?