Breaking silence is the first step

By Young Hoy Kim Kimaro

In the U.S. the presidential campaign is raging. We got caught up in the daily unfolding of Trump drama, his bragging on a 2005 tape that he can grope and do whatever to women because he was a “star.” The tape went viral on American TV, astonishing the electorate and party operatives alike. Trump dismissed it as “locker room talk” and nothing more.

No, not so, claim a steady stream of women, nearing a dozen now. Spurred on by Trump’s categorical denial, they felt compelled to step forward to tell their stories to set the records straight. Some accusations date back over 30 years, others more recent.

Their accusations were met with categorical denial, of course, and questions were raised about the character and intentions of the accusers ― Why had they remained silent for so long? Why did they choose to break their silence now, so close to the election? Why?

Harrowing as their experiences have been, these women are still much more fortunate than women in similar or worse situations on Mount Kilimanjaro and in many other places around the world. At least they are able to pour their hearts out to close friends, coworkers and family without fear or shame and blame. They could count on their understanding and support.

Several years ago, news of an impending public stoning to death of a 13-year-old girl in Somalia, a victim of gang rape, shocked the world. Perhaps you heard about it in Korea too?

Public stoning of women found guilty of adultery is still practiced in some Muslim countries. But stoning to death of a victim of rape? Pleas poured in from around the world, interceding with Somali authorities to spare the life of an innocent. Those pleas went unheard; the stoning proceeded as planned, and probably it was a close male relative of the girl who was made to throw the first stone, as usual.

Perhaps the barrage of stones that brought her death was a merciful one. Those stones put an end to the terror of rape. They put an end to her paralyzing fear of the consequences that awaited her. They silenced her heart that was torn to shreds from her family’s denunciation of her. Maybe, for her, death was merciful. It freed her from it all and gave her the peace that was denied her in life.

As they wiped dust off their hands, the men who threw the stones undoubtedly felt righteous. They had done their duty. They rid the society of impurity lest it contaminate others. They had upheld its morals. But did they? Can punishing the victim protect society from crime? Would jailing the one who was burglarized prevent further burglaries?

There is no such public stoning in Tanzania, but punishment inflicted on a rape victim by family and society is no less cruel.

When our daughter Eli went about interviewing people on Mount Kilimanjaro for “A Lot Like You,” a documentary on her Chagga roots, she unexpectedly came across a dark reality that neither she nor I had been aware of. That reality unfolded in response to an innocuous question ― How was your courtship and what was your wedding like?”

She found the men were vague and incoherent in their answers while women recalled every detail. Two sisters in their 70s who were interviewed together told their stories which they had not even shared with each other before. Their stories and those of other women were variations on a theme.

A young man rounds up friends to help win over a girl whom he fancies and this is a scenario that unfolds time and again. Friends kidnap her, bring her to him where he keeps her locked up for several days, repeatedly forcing himself on her.

Thus violated, the girl is trapped for good. Unlike Trump’s accusers in America, returning home is not an option. There she is unlikely to be met with understanding or sympathy, only the full brunt of blame and shame. She may even be thrown out of home for sullying her family’s name.

Even if her family takes her back and embraces her, she still has to face constant finger pointing, insults and rumors. The only way out for her would be for her to agree be her rapist’s wife.

In one stroke, all her girlish dreams are shattered and a dark tunnel opens up before her of lifelong servitude to a man that she may hate from her guts. A social worker, familiar with victims of violence and herself a rape victim, adds that this is like condemning a girl to a life of festering hatred and living death.

Nevertheless, the resilience of the Chagga women who entered into marriage thus is still nothing short of amazing. They may barely tolerate their husbands, but they are selfless, fearlessly protective and loving of their children. They so often remind me of Korean mothers…

What if a girl manages to escape her captor and returns home, keeping the incident all to herself? She will return to life as usual, but the fear of pregnancy will constantly hover over her. If she is found pregnant months later, her sky will fall. No amount of explaining will save the day. No matter how brilliant a student, she will be summarily thrown out of school, putting an abrupt end to her education, her chance for a better future. And there would be consequences to face from her family.

No wonder men were hesitant to talk about their courtship and marriage. No wonder the word rape is never uttered in the open. Perhaps breaking this silence will be the first step toward breaking the practice of enslaving women in lifelong servitude to a man she hates!

The writer resides on the slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. She worked for the World Bank for nearly 30 years and her email is youngkimaro@gmail.com.