CULTURE
From Female Agenda To Genitalia
It used to be what’s between your ears, not what’s between your legs to discuss female empowerment
Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Maybe I’ve lost the plot.
I was at a Saturday meeting with a group of intellectually-charged and independent ladies at the Sheraton hotel. It was an emergency power meeting — a term used to describe a last-minute meet-up for urgent executive decisions. I arrived as early as 8am for a quiet breakfast, enjoyed my reading time pouring through The Economist before the others arrived at 10am. I like to be early and I like to be on schedule.
Despite coming from all corners of the city, everyone arrived on time, prepared and ready to utilize our Saturday to solve problems. These women are experienced, with nothing less than 20 years of working experience each.
We did a few seconds of pleasantries, mainly to thank each other for coming in on a Saturday, and we didn’t begin by asking about family or children. We began by ordering the beverage to fuel the discussion. We then zoomed into the agenda for the day.
While others ordered different types of coffee, I ordered a glass of Italian red wine and a glass of warm water. Yes, it was 10am. Time is arbitrary. But it only goes to show the kind of discussions that will take place and who chairs it. It is something I learned from one of my earlier superiors who only had vodka lime during editorial meetings (or meetings with stakeholders) with coffee consumed alone in her private office.
In a Muslim country like Malaysia, a woman is given freedom in different measures compared to other Islamic nations. This isn’t Qatar, it isn’t Iran, it isn’t Pakistan. We have more liberal spaces like Indonesia and Turkey. To assume all Islamic countries bear misogynistic grudges against their women would be untrue and lacking poor research and judgement skills.
But on a larger scheme of things, it’s a form of female empowerment and how women can own it, and show it against the patriarchal society. In these ways, the men do listen and they do provide us with respect. I’m a believer that respect is earned based on how one seeks it. Feel free to have your own take on the matter.
The men at the meeting lounge walk by and no one gives a shaded glance. The staff are accommodating and respectful, knowing when to step in and interrupt to ask if we’re good, and when to step away and leave us to our discussions.
I could see them looking now and then intrigued by the animated discussions and eavesdropping on the corporate conundrums we were resolving.
We ladies could have selected a private meeting room, or met at an office. We didn’t. We chose an open meeting space often frequented by men with their respective powered discussions because we had every right to be there.
We had our tools, our tablets, documents and we were dressed professionally ready for a meeting, not downplaying ourselves just because it’s a last-minute meeting on a Saturday.
Our meeting was set for 10am — 2pm. At 12.30pm we took a break for lunch and ordered food. It was then we chatted about our personal lives and entertained non-work related questions and enjoyed laughs. We then resumed the meeting and focused on conflict-resolutions.
As experienced professionals we know how to cut and dry our sessions, and adhere to time economy. This is where chairing the meeting — how and who chairs it — is important. Always stick to the agenda and steer the ship accordingly.
Every minute was worth something, including paying for parking for those who drove. We also know that we can go on yapping forever if we wanted to, but we shouldn’t because we ought to reclaim what’s left of the weekend.
This is why ad-hoc weekend meetings are still acceptable. No one goes mental about it or lament the weekend is stolen, like the younger generation would make it out to be.
Also, some decisions are urgent and need to be made in preparation for Monday. Decisions that involve other employees and stakeholders. The young generation need to understand these things before launching a rant online about how they’re made to work outside of 9–5, melting into another quiet quitting melodrama.
If you’re smart, be good — meaning be above competent — at your work so you can avoid it. Learn to make decisions fast and efficiently so you can move on to your personal schedule. Not every boss out there is out to oppress and suppress when they need work to be looked into.
By 2pm we were sorted out and ready to take every other matter “offline”, a term used to refer to less consequential matters outside of this 10–2 time frame.
A work-life balance is possible and so is ambition and female empowerment in a Muslim state, if you know what cards to have in hand.
At the recent World Cup in Qatar, several western media — female reporters — tried to slander and defame the landscape by claiming how it was restricted for females. They made snide comments, grim faces and in typical fashion tried to stir the hornet’s nest claiming the middle east is still archaic and progressively demented.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m not big on the middle east myself just as I have my own reservations with every other parts of the world. There’s no country perfect enough, big enough, ideal enough. But that’s life and how I think we ought to stay objective.
When I traveled to Qatar, I surprised myself that enjoyed it. I actually loved it.
Deemed the Geneva of the deserts, Doha is pricey, smells of premium oud (a type of sandalwood famous in their perfumes), and spanking clean. The people are kind speaking only when necessary, sophisticatedly dressed, and Doha has a warmer tone compared to Dubai (where it’s too much of an Alice in Wonderland on substance). Even if it’s a short stop-over, the art galleries in Doha are a must-visit, so is the 2-hour Dhow Cruise with Doha Corniche walk.
The term “progressive” itself in this context, is a spectrum based on culture, geopolitical aspects and pace of female advancement. Just because the French feminists were burning bras in the 70s and those in Asia and North Africa weren’t, didn’t mean the women were less “insightful”.
To hit back at the comments, middle eastern female journalists spoke up about the importance of journalistic integrity and credibility, or rather lack of portrayed by the foreign press. There’s that famous saying, “When in Rome… “. This would be one of those moments to apply. “Do your research before you paint your own desired picture” they spoke back firmly.
There were other observations to note.
Qatar banned beer from the eight stadiums for the 64 matches, but they offer non-alcoholic beer. It’s one way to introduce an innovation and to keep the drinking merriment going. Is that wrong? Fans were shocked that Saudi Arabia beat Argentina, Japan beat Germany. What’s unusual and upsetting about that?
There was a major ruckus about the One Love armbands used to promote gay rights. Folks said this was due to Islamic condemnation against homosexuality because, hey you’re in Qatar. In a twisted irony, within the week, it was in Colorado, U.S., that a gunman was arrested after killing five people at a gay bar.
This isn’t to say that the Islamic nations do not have their own issues. Iran’s team refused to sing their national anthem in protest to intensifying violence spreading across Iran with 416 people killed at the time of writing this. Iranian fans booed their own anthem.
With FIFA’s own corruption scandal at critical heat, the World Cup 2022 is not the same as its predecessors. Growing up and watching it for over four decades, it used to be about the love of the game, seeing coordinated skills across a manicured turf and a moving ball that unites people. Today it’s a stage for political agendas and cultural wars.
It’s not the future I had envisioned as a child listening to songs like Michael Jackson’s “Heal the world”, Band Aid 1985’s “Do they know it’s Christmas?” and Dionne Warwick’s “That’s what friends are for” or Whitney Houston’s “Greatest love of all”.
In that sense, we no longer know what shit we’re singing.
Talking about shit and singing, en route home, I read an article — regretfully — where the female writer suggested Cardi B be the face and symbol of modern female empowerment.
The writer referenced Cardi B’s song “WAP” as an anthem for modern women. Many comments supported this as a form of female liberation. I thought about my nieces, especially when I’m gone, and cried silently in between my two hemispheres sitting on my prefrontal cortex.
For perspective, here’s the lyrics to “WAP” and you be the judge. For those unaware, I regret to inform that WAP stands for “wet ass pussy”.
Tie me up like I’m surprised
Let’s role-play, I wear a disguise
I want you to park that big Mack truck right in this little garage
Make it cream, make me scream
Out in public, make a scene
I don’t cook, I don’t clean
But let me tell you, I got this ring (ayy, ayy)
Gobble me, swallow me, drip down the side of me (yeah)
Quick, jump out ‘fore you let it get inside of me (yeah)
I tell him where to put it, never tell him where I’m ‘bout to be
I run down on him ‘fore I have a nigga running me
Talk yo’ shit, bite your lip
Ask for a car while you ride that dick (while you ride that dick)
You ain’t never gotta fuck him for a thing
He already made his mind up ‘fore he came
Now get your boots and your coat for this wet ass pussy
He bought a phone just for pictures of this wet ass pussy
Pay my tuition just to kiss me on this wet ass pussy
Now make it rain if you wanna see some wet ass pussy
Look, I need a hard hitter, I need a deep stroke
I need a Henny drink, I need a weed smoker
Not a garden snake, I need a king cobra
With a hook in it, hope it lean over
He got some money, then that’s where I’m headed
Pussy A-1, just like his credit
He got a beard, well, I’m tryna wet it
I let him taste it, and now he diabetic
I don’t wanna spit, I wanna gulp
I wanna gag, I wanna choke
I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat
My head game is fire, punani Dasani
It’s going in dry, and it’s coming out soggy
I ride on that thing like the cops is behind me (yuh, ah)
I spit on his mic’ and now he tryna sign me, woo
Your honor, I’m a freak bitch, handcuffs, leashes
Switch my wig, make him feel like he cheating
Put him on his knees, give him some’ to believe in
Never lost a fight, but I’m looking for a beating
In the food chain, I’m the one that eat ya
If he ate my ass, he’s a bottom feeder
Big D stand for big demeanor
I could make ya bust before I ever meet ya
If it don’t hang, then he can’t bang
You can’t hurt my feelings, but I like pain
If he fuck me and ask, “Whose is it?”
When I ride the dick, I’ma spell my name, ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, you fucking with some wet ass pussy
Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet ass pussy
Give me everything you got for this wet ass pussy
Now from the top, make it drop, that’s some wet ass pussy
Now get a bucket and a mop, that’s some wet ass pussy
I’m talking WAP, WAP, WAP, that’s some wet ass pussy
Macaroni in a pot, that’s some wet ass pussy, huh
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
Despite being raised in a conservative Muslim country (Malaysia) and having to fight my own battles against patriarchy and social biases, I can tell you this much: None of the empowered women I had a meeting with on Saturday — we were of different races and one wore a hijab — felt deprived, thirsty and oppressed to the point of having to use our vagina across discourses and up the career ladder.
I won’t lie, but if my best friend started spewing the above lyrics in replace for Gloria Steinem’s quotes, I’d be worried and accompany her for counseling.
My ladies and I worked like everyone else but we used the organ and muscle bestowed to us and the sexiest one there is to get to where we are on the corporate ladder, and to the meaningful social spaces we carved for ourselves — our brain.
Using what’s between your ears takes you further up while what’s between your legs can still take you places — just a different direction and maybe on a different road map.
Meanwhile, I’m just glad I’ve lived half my life (I think it’s half) seeing better days to have enough temerity to brace myself for the current erosion of moral, social and cultural values brought upon by so much misinformation, disinformation and lack of quality reading and knowledge-seeking.
Right now, as a woman among women, I’m starting to lose bearing on what certain communities of women want for themselves, and I used to think as a gender we are fighting one battle on one side. Guess not.
Maybe that’s my intellectual flaw.
