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Anarchy`s daughters: The Indian Express
Baghdad, June 29: Every school day morning, five fathers stand guard outside a girls` high school in west Baghdad, making sure their daughters are not kidnapped and raped.
Baghdad, June 29: Every school day morning, five fathers stand guard outside a girls’ high school in west Baghdad, making sure their daughters are not kidnapped and raped.
From the opening to the closing tinkles of the school bell, they peer into the chaotic street when cars slow down or strangers loiter.
At noon on this day, Mohammed Abdel-Hassan pries his two daughters away from a circle of chatting girls and takes them home.
The next day, five different fathers will have watch duty under the scorching sun, in shifts organised by a newly formed committee of men dedicated to keeping their daughters safe.
The insecurity that reigns in Iraq is the defining reality of post-war life. But the lawlessness is felt disproportionately by young women and girls.
In one of the most secular capitals in the Arab world, where women were until recently a visible and integrated part of public life, females have all but disappeared. Men are the ones doing the shopping, turning up for what jobs remain and helping plan the future of Iraq with the US authority.
‘‘There’s so little security, and they are vulnerable as girls,’’ said Abdel-Hassan. ‘‘We hear rumours constantly of kidnappings and rape.’’
The fear of rape in the city is now so widespread that families are rearranging their daily activities around providing security for their daughters. Dedicated fathers like Abdel-Hassan ensure their safety at school, but many who are unable or disinclined to take on an additional burden are opting to keep daughters at home.
‘‘We decided to give up on this school year entirely,’’ said a man who hires out his services as a driver. He said his daughter’s schooling is important but that his long hours don’t allow him to drive her around. ‘‘Being safe is more important than being a year behind.’’
It’s impossible to know the number of rapes that have occurred since the fall of Saddam Hussein’s regime in early April. Abdel-Hassan puts the number at 100. Prisons are empty, and the thousands of hardened criminals roam the streets. US officials here said they were concerned about the overall lack of security but were not taking specific measures to address its effects on women.
For Um Omar, like other mothers who cannot afford a car, that means spending each afternoon in snarled traffic, in taxis that often run out of gas, picking up each of her three daughters at schools in disparate parts of the city.
‘‘They say even taxis aren’t safe. Should I be using the public buses? I don’t know,’’ she said.
Woman students at colleges who successfully battled traditional norms for a measure of social independence now fear it will be years before they can regain the pre-war normalcy of their lives.
Activities such as meeting friends for dinner and swimming at the local pool are now out of the question, and the public places where they used to meet — cultural centres or social clubs — have either been looted or taken over by bands of Iraqis. (LAT-WP)
At noon on this day, Mohammed Abdel-Hassan pries his two daughters away from a circle of chatting girls and takes them home.
The next day, five different fathers will have watch duty under the scorching sun, in shifts organised by a newly formed committee of men dedicated to keeping their daughters safe.
The insecurity that reigns in Iraq is the defining reality of post-war life. But the lawlessness is felt disproportionately by young women and girls.
In one of the most secular capitals in the Arab world, where women were until recently a visible and integrated part of public life, females have all but disappeared. Men are the ones doing the shopping, turning up for what jobs remain and helping plan the future of Iraq with the US authority.
‘‘There’s so little security, and they are vulnerable as girls,’’ said Abdel-Hassan. ‘‘We hear rumours constantly of kidnappings and rape.’’
The fear of rape in the city is now so widespread that families are rearranging their daily activities around providing security for their daughters. Dedicated fathers like Abdel-Hassan ensure their safety at school, but many who are unable or disinclined to take on an additional burden are opting to keep daughters at home.
‘‘We decided to give up on this school year entirely,’’ said a man who hires out his services as a driver. He said his daughter’s schooling is important but that his long hours don’t allow him to drive her around. ‘‘Being safe is more important than being a year behind.’’
It’s impossible to know the number of rapes that have occurred since the fall of Saddam Hussein’s regime in early April. Abdel-Hassan puts the number at 100. Prisons are empty, and the thousands of hardened criminals roam the streets. US officials here said they were concerned about the overall lack of security but were not taking specific measures to address its effects on women.
For Um Omar, like other mothers who cannot afford a car, that means spending each afternoon in snarled traffic, in taxis that often run out of gas, picking up each of her three daughters at schools in disparate parts of the city.
‘‘They say even taxis aren’t safe. Should I be using the public buses? I don’t know,’’ she said.
Woman students at colleges who successfully battled traditional norms for a measure of social independence now fear it will be years before they can regain the pre-war normalcy of their lives.
Activities such as meeting friends for dinner and swimming at the local pool are now out of the question, and the public places where they used to meet — cultural centres or social clubs — have either been looted or taken over by bands of Iraqis. (LAT-WP)