New York Times
February 3, 2012
On the night of Jan. 25, on the anniversary of the protest that launched Egypt’s 18-day uprising, Tahrir Square was still packed from the day’s demonstration: shrouded in an ominous haze of pollution, burning garbage, celebratory fireworks and smoke from baked sweet-potato stands.
I was navigating my way through the crush of bodies when I saw the twinkle in his eye: a kid in his late teens or early 20s with a friend headed straight for me. Suddenly, part of me knew it was coming. In retrospect, it was totally obvious.
As I passed him, I felt it: a hand on my behind, fingers clenching for a handful of flesh through jeans. It happens so often, I didn’t even turn around, didn’t yell, didn’t grab him. I just kept walking.
Sexual harassment — actually, let’s call it what it is: assault — in Egypt is not just common. It’s an epidemic. It inhabits every space in this society, from back alleys to the birthplace of the newest chapter of Egyptian history. A 2008 study by the Egyptian Center for Women’s Rights found that 98 percent of foreign female visitors and 83 percent of Egyptian women have experienced sexual harassment. Sixty-two percent of men admitted to harassing women, while 53 percent blame women for “bringing it on.”
There’s a part of me that knows I was ‘‘asking for it’’ that night because I was walking alone at 9 o’clock in a dark, crowded place. Just like I ask for it in broad daylight — because I’m a breathing member of the female gender. I’m tired of it, and so are Egyptian women.
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