A Woman Is No Man

In her opening sentence, Rum articulates the profound dilemma so many of her characters face: “I was born without a voice” (1). As Rum portrays it, women born into Arabic culture are metaphorically mute, their voices and bodies nearly invisible. They are taught from a young age that they have nothing to contribute other than work and children (certainly not opinions). Isra lives her entire life under this presumption, as did her mother and countless other women going back countless generations. Accepting that premise, as Isra does, prevents her from asking questions, so Isra learns to accept. She accepts the drudgery, the shame of not bearing any sons, and the physical and emotional abuse—and she does it silently, thinking silence will make things better.

The lesson she learns, however, is that silence only invites more of the same, a lesson Sarah learned early and tries desperately to impart to her sister-in-law. Sarah meets fierce resistance for her lack of silence, but she is undeterred. Years later, she tells Deya repeatedly to find her voice. While we may read this metaphorically, she also means it quite literally. Speak up. Don’t be afraid to voice your objections no matter how terrifying the consequences (and the consequences can be terrifying indeed). Silence begets more abuse, and the pressure to keep that abuse hidden only perpetuates it. The veil of silence enforced by these cultural codes precludes victims from seeking help, and so victims endure in silence, and the codes are never broken.  

Rum’s characters struggle to survive shifting cultural and moral norms. Fareeda and Khaled come to America to escape the extreme poverty of Palestinian refugee camps, and while their economic situation is objectively better, they find themselves navigating a new and frightening landscape that seems to threaten their very cultural foundations. Fareeda disparages America’s lack of morality, fearing her daughters will bring shame upon the family by even considering their own sexuality; when asked to choose between America and the refugee camps, Khaled cannot decide. Surrounded by a capitalist economy and progressive social rules, both of which are unfamiliar, poverty almost seems like a better choice. Living through cultural change becomes easier for successive generations, but for Fareeda, and even Isra, feeling the cultural ground shift in such radical ways is tantamount to a full-scale moral crisis. 

Change is intimidating, and during these moments, the familiar is often the only refuge. Fareeda clings to her traditions desperately despite the changes she sees around her. When Sarah has the audacity to demand control of her own life, Fareeda’s only recourse is to double down, insisting the Sarah live her life the way countless generations of women before her have, because to give ground on the simple things like wearing a sleeveless shirt or going to the store alone is to ultimately surrender everything. When traditions are the only anchors we have, to abandon them is to drift into uncharted, and perhaps dangerous, waters.