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Our Women on the Ground: Essays by Arab Women Reporting from the Arab World
Nineteen Arab women journalists speak out about what it’s like to report on their changing homelands in this first-of-its-kind essay collection, with a foreword by CNN chief international correspondent Christiane Amanpour“A stirring, provocative and well-made new anthology . . . that rewrites the hoary rules of the foreign correspondent playbook, deactivating the old clichés.” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times
A growing number of intrepid Arab and Middle Eastern sahafiyat—female journalists—are working tirelessly to shape nuanced narratives about their changing homelands, often risking their lives on the front lines of war. From sexual harassment on the streets of Cairo to the difficulty of traveling without a male relative in Yemen, their challenges are unique—as are their advantages, such as being able to speak candidly with other women at a Syrian medical clinic or with men on Whatsapp who will go on to become ISIS fighters, rebels, or pro-regime soldiers. In Our Women on the Ground, nineteen of these women tell us, in their own words, about what it’s like to report on conflicts that (quite literally) hit close to home. Their daring and heartfelt stories, told here for the first time, shatter stereotypes about the region’s women and provide an urgently needed perspective on a part of the world that is frequently misunderstood.
INCLUDING ESSAYS Donna Abu-Nasr, Aida Alami, Hannah Allam, Jane Arraf, Lina Attalah, Nada Bakri, Shamael Elnoor, Zaina Erhaim, Asmaa al-Ghoul, Hind Hassan, Eman Helal, Zeina Karam, Roula Khalaf, Nour Malas, Hwaida Saad, Amira Al-Sharif, Heba Shibani, Lina Sinjab, and Natacha Yazbeck
A growing number of intrepid Arab and Middle Eastern sahafiyat—female journalists—are working tirelessly to shape nuanced narratives about their changing homelands, often risking their lives on the front lines of war. From sexual harassment on the streets of Cairo to the difficulty of traveling without a male relative in Yemen, their challenges are unique—as are their advantages, such as being able to speak candidly with other women at a Syrian medical clinic or with men on Whatsapp who will go on to become ISIS fighters, rebels, or pro-regime soldiers. In Our Women on the Ground, nineteen of these women tell us, in their own words, about what it’s like to report on conflicts that (quite literally) hit close to home. Their daring and heartfelt stories, told here for the first time, shatter stereotypes about the region’s women and provide an urgently needed perspective on a part of the world that is frequently misunderstood.
INCLUDING ESSAYS Donna Abu-Nasr, Aida Alami, Hannah Allam, Jane Arraf, Lina Attalah, Nada Bakri, Shamael Elnoor, Zaina Erhaim, Asmaa al-Ghoul, Hind Hassan, Eman Helal, Zeina Karam, Roula Khalaf, Nour Malas, Hwaida Saad, Amira Al-Sharif, Heba Shibani, Lina Sinjab, and Natacha Yazbeck
288 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 6, 2019
About the author
Zahra Hankir
2 books297 followersZahra Hankir (زهرة حنقير) is a Lebanese-British journalist who writes about the intersection of politics, culture, and society in the Middle East. Her work has appeared in Teen Vogue, Conde Nast Traveller, Guernica, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Los Angeles Times, Vice, BBC News, Al Jazeera English, Bloomberg Businessweek, Roads & Kingdoms, and Literary Hub, among others. She was awarded a Jack R. Howard Fellowship in International Journalism to attend Columbia Journalism School and holds degrees in politics and Middle Eastern studies from the American University of Beirut and the University of Manchester, respectively.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 539 reviews
April 15, 2019
Though my name is on the book, I’m rating the gorgeous essays I edited. After having read those essays dozens of times over the past two years, they still give me goosebumps, and I remain astounded by their depth.
March 15, 2019
Everyone needs to read this book. The writing is gorgeous, the stories by turns heartbreaking, inspiring, and endlessly courageous, and they give western readers a clearer and more nuanced picture of life on the ground in the Arab world than I’ve ever read before.
September 29, 2020
This was the September read for my in-person (now Zoom) book club but it was one I intended to read this year because of my focus on the Middle East. Regardless, I'm so glad I read it! It is amazing to read what these women have to say about what it is like to be a *sahafiyat* - female journalist - coming from and reporting on the Middle East. These firsthand accounts of conflict, danger, control, and loss are often harrowing. Some discuss the benefits of their unique positions to gain access to women in these communities in ways they never could otherwise. Some talk about the 70s-90s but the majority focus on the last tenish years. Syria in particular is a focus, and there is no cheery part to that story.
In the book club we talked a lot about bravery, having to choose between family and career, the environment of war, the struggle for autonomy, safety vs. story, etc. In my own reading I went on many many internet rabbit holes to look for more information about some things mentioned in passing. This book was a gentle reminder that the Middle East is a place with wide diversity in belief, language, and social expectations. I don't think I knew that an Egyptian might not understand a Iraqi, both speaking Arabic. The women who are journalists in this area are often from the same countries, and it was amazing how a Syrian can recognize the other even after fleeing from a homeland that will never be the same, and the difference that can make in access to the story.
CW for violence, death, genocide, misogyny, rape, torture, loss of home...but as Mona Eltahawy would point out, it is so easy for us to see it "over there" and be blind to it where we are. In many of these essays, the journalists mention the USA, from occupation to embargo to one-sided political relationships.
A few quotations:
"Even in the Middle East, ... Iraqi women are known to be particularly tough. The guttural Iraqi accent only underlines that reputation...Iraqi women were the region's most beautiful - until they opened their mouths." (whaaaaat you better believe I looked up videos of Iraqis speaking Arabic!!)
"Running in an abaya was a special skill that we honed each time we had to take cover: you use your left hand to hold the silky fabric under your chin to keep it in place and your right hand to hike up the bottom to free your feet. Then you run in a zigzag pattern to avoid giving a clear shot to the snipers."
"I asked everyone else in the room if they believed the moon landing was faked. They all did... Growing up in Canada, I had always been inclined to believe that government officials generally told the truth. But in the kaleidoscope world of Saddam Hussein's Iraq, people had reason to believe the opposite. This skepticism spilled over into a belief that most things were not the way they seemed." (this was not the first time this book made me pause and think about my own country, which is not the point, but isn't this why good journalism is so important... these women show it over and over....)
"I didn't fully understand the value of my choices until after I faced all this danger and harassment - from the state, from tribesmen, and from Islamists. I have been a journalist for a decade now, and let me tell you what I have learned: this is what journalism should be, or else it shouldn't be, at all... This is our destiny, and we remain ever devoted to it."
"Ultimately, both channels were two sides of the same coin, turning Libyans against one another by fueling polarization in a country that had descended into sheer chaos. I didn’t want to play a part in that polarization, even though I still wanted to be a journalist.”
"Our entire generation believed in change. We were out on the streets protesting. We resisted and we insisted. Perhaps it was our youth and our first loves that gave us such hope. But then everything stopped moving. Politics became filthier than ever before. We were the victims of a whirlwind of emotions, social media, and the people we met in this revolutionary environment. How I pity the generation that will have to go out to do it all over again. We were delusional. That is why we woke up and found our lives in complete chaos. What our revolutionaries lacked was not ideology but practical means. Life is not built on nor does it change through Facebook or social media. Those changes come through streets, schools, colleges, and other educational institutions."
And to sum up some of what we discussed in book club, here is a quote from one of our members:
“It’s always shocking to me how little we know when we go in and invade places.”
In the book club we talked a lot about bravery, having to choose between family and career, the environment of war, the struggle for autonomy, safety vs. story, etc. In my own reading I went on many many internet rabbit holes to look for more information about some things mentioned in passing. This book was a gentle reminder that the Middle East is a place with wide diversity in belief, language, and social expectations. I don't think I knew that an Egyptian might not understand a Iraqi, both speaking Arabic. The women who are journalists in this area are often from the same countries, and it was amazing how a Syrian can recognize the other even after fleeing from a homeland that will never be the same, and the difference that can make in access to the story.
CW for violence, death, genocide, misogyny, rape, torture, loss of home...but as Mona Eltahawy would point out, it is so easy for us to see it "over there" and be blind to it where we are. In many of these essays, the journalists mention the USA, from occupation to embargo to one-sided political relationships.
A few quotations:
"Even in the Middle East, ... Iraqi women are known to be particularly tough. The guttural Iraqi accent only underlines that reputation...Iraqi women were the region's most beautiful - until they opened their mouths." (whaaaaat you better believe I looked up videos of Iraqis speaking Arabic!!)
"Running in an abaya was a special skill that we honed each time we had to take cover: you use your left hand to hold the silky fabric under your chin to keep it in place and your right hand to hike up the bottom to free your feet. Then you run in a zigzag pattern to avoid giving a clear shot to the snipers."
"I asked everyone else in the room if they believed the moon landing was faked. They all did... Growing up in Canada, I had always been inclined to believe that government officials generally told the truth. But in the kaleidoscope world of Saddam Hussein's Iraq, people had reason to believe the opposite. This skepticism spilled over into a belief that most things were not the way they seemed." (this was not the first time this book made me pause and think about my own country, which is not the point, but isn't this why good journalism is so important... these women show it over and over....)
"I didn't fully understand the value of my choices until after I faced all this danger and harassment - from the state, from tribesmen, and from Islamists. I have been a journalist for a decade now, and let me tell you what I have learned: this is what journalism should be, or else it shouldn't be, at all... This is our destiny, and we remain ever devoted to it."
"Ultimately, both channels were two sides of the same coin, turning Libyans against one another by fueling polarization in a country that had descended into sheer chaos. I didn’t want to play a part in that polarization, even though I still wanted to be a journalist.”
"Our entire generation believed in change. We were out on the streets protesting. We resisted and we insisted. Perhaps it was our youth and our first loves that gave us such hope. But then everything stopped moving. Politics became filthier than ever before. We were the victims of a whirlwind of emotions, social media, and the people we met in this revolutionary environment. How I pity the generation that will have to go out to do it all over again. We were delusional. That is why we woke up and found our lives in complete chaos. What our revolutionaries lacked was not ideology but practical means. Life is not built on nor does it change through Facebook or social media. Those changes come through streets, schools, colleges, and other educational institutions."
And to sum up some of what we discussed in book club, here is a quote from one of our members:
“It’s always shocking to me how little we know when we go in and invade places.”
April 6, 2020
"Throughout the war, danger kept us company. Every minute of every day was terrifying. I was playing with death on one hand and defending my womanhood to society on the other, trying to prove that women can cover a war alongside men while keeping their so-called honor intact. I sometimes felt as though danger and death were very distant and my strength would protect me. I got so used to writing about death that I felt it could not possibly make me its victim."
Asmaa al-Ghoul
"Every thought I can change or eye I can open to help people see the difficult lives the women in my homeland live and -the inequality they experience - makes the battle a worthy one."
Zaina Ehraim
"I bore witness to momentous geopolitical shifts and told stories of inspiring courage and of wretched failures. I heard of hopelessness, saw the bloodshed, and learned of the despair before I witnessed the cataclysm of the Arab revolutions and their rapid extinguishment through counterrevolutions."
Roula Khalaf
The nineteen essays in this book are by Arab women journalists and 0ne photojournalist. Every one is truly enlightening. Reporting on different conflicts in different countries in the Middle East and North Africa, these women demonstrated remarkable courage, determination, and candor. The perils they encountered and the difficulty of their assignments were magnified by restrictions and gender bias. My admiration for them is tremendous. My appreciation of their dedication to accurate news reporting is immense. These essays reinforce the importance of uncensored journalism. These women make this not very brave woman feel very proud to call them sisters.
Asmaa al-Ghoul
"Every thought I can change or eye I can open to help people see the difficult lives the women in my homeland live and -the inequality they experience - makes the battle a worthy one."
Zaina Ehraim
"I bore witness to momentous geopolitical shifts and told stories of inspiring courage and of wretched failures. I heard of hopelessness, saw the bloodshed, and learned of the despair before I witnessed the cataclysm of the Arab revolutions and their rapid extinguishment through counterrevolutions."
Roula Khalaf
The nineteen essays in this book are by Arab women journalists and 0ne photojournalist. Every one is truly enlightening. Reporting on different conflicts in different countries in the Middle East and North Africa, these women demonstrated remarkable courage, determination, and candor. The perils they encountered and the difficulty of their assignments were magnified by restrictions and gender bias. My admiration for them is tremendous. My appreciation of their dedication to accurate news reporting is immense. These essays reinforce the importance of uncensored journalism. These women make this not very brave woman feel very proud to call them sisters.
May 3, 2021
This book contains a series of nineteen essays written by women of Arab descent. Some continue to live in the Middle East, others have moved to Europe or North America. Each story contains a brief background of who the women are, where they grew up…
I did not find the articles at the beginning of the book particularly illuminating. “On Belated Encounters with Gender” had an academic style which was irritating – it wasn’t very “grounded”.
Later the articles became much more significant. Some were on Syria and how the conflict has now been defined by sectarian strife and violence. During their encounters some of the writers were questioned as to where they were from as a way to determine which side of the struggle they would be identified with. There is very little that is neutral.
We are also told there are now a lack of men in the Middle East in the countries that are in a prolonged state of upheaval, like Iraq and Syria. Men have been killed, have been imprisoned, or have simply disappeared. There are also interviews with the fleeing diaspora – in refugee camps or in Europe.
There is a very harrowing article “Just Stop” on the appalling misogyny in Egypt. Sexual harassment is commonplace. To quote from page 114 – “I have found that most Egyptian men do not respect women.” I wish there would have been more articles on this subject matter. The control of women and the violence against women is pervasive in Middle Eastern countries. I recently read this article in the New York Times.
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/04/29/sp...
This happens to women across the Arab world.
There are also interesting stories from Sudan and an intrepid photojournalist in Yemen. Also, that of a Palestinian woman who was harassed and arrested by Hamas for not being “virtuous enough” in the West Bank and Gaza. One TV journalist escaped a near abduction in Tripoli, Libya. She is hounded because of her “liberal” views. There is one article on Saudi Arabia, the ultimate state for the subjugation of women.
For the most part we do get an insiders view of each country under scrutiny.
In some ways, this book avoids the pervasive oppression of women and misogyny in the Middle East; for example, there is no discussion of honor killings. I also recall reading articles where foreign workers, especially female ones, who go to the Gulf States have absolutely no rights.
I did not find the articles at the beginning of the book particularly illuminating. “On Belated Encounters with Gender” had an academic style which was irritating – it wasn’t very “grounded”.
Later the articles became much more significant. Some were on Syria and how the conflict has now been defined by sectarian strife and violence. During their encounters some of the writers were questioned as to where they were from as a way to determine which side of the struggle they would be identified with. There is very little that is neutral.
We are also told there are now a lack of men in the Middle East in the countries that are in a prolonged state of upheaval, like Iraq and Syria. Men have been killed, have been imprisoned, or have simply disappeared. There are also interviews with the fleeing diaspora – in refugee camps or in Europe.
There is a very harrowing article “Just Stop” on the appalling misogyny in Egypt. Sexual harassment is commonplace. To quote from page 114 – “I have found that most Egyptian men do not respect women.” I wish there would have been more articles on this subject matter. The control of women and the violence against women is pervasive in Middle Eastern countries. I recently read this article in the New York Times.
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/04/29/sp...
This happens to women across the Arab world.
There are also interesting stories from Sudan and an intrepid photojournalist in Yemen. Also, that of a Palestinian woman who was harassed and arrested by Hamas for not being “virtuous enough” in the West Bank and Gaza. One TV journalist escaped a near abduction in Tripoli, Libya. She is hounded because of her “liberal” views. There is one article on Saudi Arabia, the ultimate state for the subjugation of women.
For the most part we do get an insiders view of each country under scrutiny.
In some ways, this book avoids the pervasive oppression of women and misogyny in the Middle East; for example, there is no discussion of honor killings. I also recall reading articles where foreign workers, especially female ones, who go to the Gulf States have absolutely no rights.
September 5, 2019
Such an important book that highlights the life of 19 female arab journalists who dared to break the stereotypes in order to be Sahafiyat .
Zahra Hankir wrote in the introduction that ' A Sahafiya is twice burdened' and that is exactly why their stories need to be heard , especially with the rise of representation and the dangers of single narratives.
Zahra Hankir wrote in the introduction that ' A Sahafiya is twice burdened' and that is exactly why their stories need to be heard , especially with the rise of representation and the dangers of single narratives.
November 24, 2020
felt like this book is catered more towards "western" reads. whilst reading the first couple essays I've noticed a common trait between them. and that's that the majority if not all of the journalist mentioned have been influenced by western culture one way or another while growing up. sure they're Arab women but for me most of the essays felt like it has been written by foreign writers with Arabic sounding names.
A story that stuck with me is Ruqia Hasan's
and from that essay, one quote really resonated with me
"Dear God: Emigration is a loss of dignity and a form of humiliation, while staying here is hell. Dear God: Where should we go?"
A story that stuck with me is Ruqia Hasan's
and from that essay, one quote really resonated with me
"Dear God: Emigration is a loss of dignity and a form of humiliation, while staying here is hell. Dear God: Where should we go?"
April 10, 2019
“When ISIS soldiers arrest me and kill me, it will be okay, because while they will cut off my head, I’ll still have dignity, which is better than living in humiliation.” This was the last daring Facebook post of Ruqia Hasan, a citizen journalist based in the Syrian city of Raqqa who was subsequently kidnapped and executed by Daesh in 2015.
Hasan, like many across the Middle East, had no formal background or education in journalism, nor was she employed by any media outlet. However, like others across the region, she eagerly embraced social media and used it to document her experiences. Her Facebook posts provided a chilling insight into life under Daesh’s rule, and she paid the ultimate price for it.
Journalism in the Middle East, whether by professional or citizen reporters, can often be a game of Russian roulette. With the region featuring at the bottom of the World Press Freedom Index, many face harassment, imprisonment, exile or death. While white, male war reporters and foreign correspondents dominate Western screens and by-lines, the crucial journalistic work done by Arab women often goes unappreciated and, yet, their work is essential to understanding the dynamics of the region.
Our Women on the Ground: Essays by Arab Women Reporting from the Arab World’ by British-Lebanese writer and journalist Zahra Hankir collects personal stories of women who cover the news, from Iraq to Morocco. The essays reflect everything from the human cost of war and sexism in the workplace to tackling gender norms and the personal cost of reporting.
The challenges women face when covering the Middle East are varied and, at times, oddly contradictory; some local media outlets try to prevent their own female employees from reporting certain stories. In Eman Helal’s essay ‘Just Stop’, we learn of her eagerness and tenacity as a photojournalist seeking to cover protests and civil strife in Egypt, despite her senior editor actively trying to stop her from going out on “dangerous” assignments which are “no place for women”. However, despite attempts to confine her to the office for her “own safety”, Helal finds that in fact the office is far from a safe space, often having to deal with harassment from her male colleagues.
Media environments in the Arab world can be stifling for one’s journalistic career, but to be a female journalist in the region also has its advantages. Women can often get stories their male counterparts cannot get. At the height of conflict in places like Iraq, for example, female reporters were often able to pass through checkpoints and enter militia-held areas, which was unthinkable for their male counterparts.
These female journalists are therefore able to offer a fascinating insight into spaces rarely open to the outside world. One particularly gripping account is offered by Hannah Allam, who managed to enter Imam Ali’s shrine in Najaf, southern Iraq, during the US assault on the city in 2004. US troops surrounded the religious compound, while members of the Shia Mehdi Army were battling them in the streets.
While all the men were outside fighting, inside the shrine became a sanctuary for women. However, the women were not passively hiding from the violence outside, but were in fact undertaking relief efforts. It was here that Allam met extraordinary people keeping both the fighters of the Mehdi Army and US soldiers alive, showing empathy to soldiers on both sides of the conflict. Allam used her time in Iraq to talk about the effect of war on Iraqi society beyond the explosions; we meet Egyptian hairdressers and encounter Iraqis’ dark humour. By doing so, Allam allows the reader to see a side of Iraq that many do not think is worth reporting, even though this tells us more about the daily life of Iraqis than much of what is reported.
The personal impact of covering the Middle East during troubled times comes out in multiple ways for each reporter. While some are directly threatened with violence for doing their jobs, others are forced into uncomfortable positions while covering conflict from afar.
Hwaida Saad’s essay on how her interpersonal relationships with sources in Syria changed over time, as the 2011 Syrian Revolution turned into civil war, captured the dilemma faced by many journalists. As sectarianism became more salient in Syria, sources who had come to think of Hwaida as a friend became more suspicious of her and demanded to know what her sectarian background was. Being Lebanese, with her personal experience of conflict in Lebanon, she refused to answer these questions, but found that many of her sources stopped talking to her as a result. Personal boundaries cost her sources for stories and even friendships.
Our Women on the Ground’ is a compelling and gripping read; it is, however, not an exhaustive compendium on female reporters from the Arab world. What the reader is being given is an insight into what is out there, a drop in a very large ocean; I have come to regard the book as an introduction into what is possible. By the simple act of reading what these women have to say, we are able to visit spaces, places and meet people that are otherwise beyond our reach.
The diversity of voices out there is even greater than one book can capture, but where the book succeeds is bringing together different voices, allowing them to tell stories of their own choosing, each one being alluring in its own special way. As Zahra Hankir says in the introduction, “I created this long overdue anthology because it’s a book I desperately wanted to see on bookshelves everywhere”. If the key to a good book is to produce a book that you would like to read, I think Hankir has created a book that we are all desperate to read.
Hasan, like many across the Middle East, had no formal background or education in journalism, nor was she employed by any media outlet. However, like others across the region, she eagerly embraced social media and used it to document her experiences. Her Facebook posts provided a chilling insight into life under Daesh’s rule, and she paid the ultimate price for it.
Journalism in the Middle East, whether by professional or citizen reporters, can often be a game of Russian roulette. With the region featuring at the bottom of the World Press Freedom Index, many face harassment, imprisonment, exile or death. While white, male war reporters and foreign correspondents dominate Western screens and by-lines, the crucial journalistic work done by Arab women often goes unappreciated and, yet, their work is essential to understanding the dynamics of the region.
Our Women on the Ground: Essays by Arab Women Reporting from the Arab World’ by British-Lebanese writer and journalist Zahra Hankir collects personal stories of women who cover the news, from Iraq to Morocco. The essays reflect everything from the human cost of war and sexism in the workplace to tackling gender norms and the personal cost of reporting.
The challenges women face when covering the Middle East are varied and, at times, oddly contradictory; some local media outlets try to prevent their own female employees from reporting certain stories. In Eman Helal’s essay ‘Just Stop’, we learn of her eagerness and tenacity as a photojournalist seeking to cover protests and civil strife in Egypt, despite her senior editor actively trying to stop her from going out on “dangerous” assignments which are “no place for women”. However, despite attempts to confine her to the office for her “own safety”, Helal finds that in fact the office is far from a safe space, often having to deal with harassment from her male colleagues.
Media environments in the Arab world can be stifling for one’s journalistic career, but to be a female journalist in the region also has its advantages. Women can often get stories their male counterparts cannot get. At the height of conflict in places like Iraq, for example, female reporters were often able to pass through checkpoints and enter militia-held areas, which was unthinkable for their male counterparts.
These female journalists are therefore able to offer a fascinating insight into spaces rarely open to the outside world. One particularly gripping account is offered by Hannah Allam, who managed to enter Imam Ali’s shrine in Najaf, southern Iraq, during the US assault on the city in 2004. US troops surrounded the religious compound, while members of the Shia Mehdi Army were battling them in the streets.
While all the men were outside fighting, inside the shrine became a sanctuary for women. However, the women were not passively hiding from the violence outside, but were in fact undertaking relief efforts. It was here that Allam met extraordinary people keeping both the fighters of the Mehdi Army and US soldiers alive, showing empathy to soldiers on both sides of the conflict. Allam used her time in Iraq to talk about the effect of war on Iraqi society beyond the explosions; we meet Egyptian hairdressers and encounter Iraqis’ dark humour. By doing so, Allam allows the reader to see a side of Iraq that many do not think is worth reporting, even though this tells us more about the daily life of Iraqis than much of what is reported.
The personal impact of covering the Middle East during troubled times comes out in multiple ways for each reporter. While some are directly threatened with violence for doing their jobs, others are forced into uncomfortable positions while covering conflict from afar.
Hwaida Saad’s essay on how her interpersonal relationships with sources in Syria changed over time, as the 2011 Syrian Revolution turned into civil war, captured the dilemma faced by many journalists. As sectarianism became more salient in Syria, sources who had come to think of Hwaida as a friend became more suspicious of her and demanded to know what her sectarian background was. Being Lebanese, with her personal experience of conflict in Lebanon, she refused to answer these questions, but found that many of her sources stopped talking to her as a result. Personal boundaries cost her sources for stories and even friendships.
Our Women on the Ground’ is a compelling and gripping read; it is, however, not an exhaustive compendium on female reporters from the Arab world. What the reader is being given is an insight into what is out there, a drop in a very large ocean; I have come to regard the book as an introduction into what is possible. By the simple act of reading what these women have to say, we are able to visit spaces, places and meet people that are otherwise beyond our reach.
The diversity of voices out there is even greater than one book can capture, but where the book succeeds is bringing together different voices, allowing them to tell stories of their own choosing, each one being alluring in its own special way. As Zahra Hankir says in the introduction, “I created this long overdue anthology because it’s a book I desperately wanted to see on bookshelves everywhere”. If the key to a good book is to produce a book that you would like to read, I think Hankir has created a book that we are all desperate to read.
December 20, 2019
A sharp look at the various conflicts in Middle East through the eyes of Arab women journalists or the Sahafiyat who cover them.
Insightful and smart, these essays are a must read.
Insightful and smart, these essays are a must read.
June 20, 2022
19 tekstów a każdy inny. Reporterki i fotografki z Azji Zachodniej w napisanych przez siebie na potrzeby tej książki esejach, wychodzą na pierwszy plan, przestając się chować za zawodowym obiektywizmem. Piszą o emocjach, o decyzjach, które - mimo że prywatne - wpływają na to, co polityczne. Jak pogodzić bycie matką i reporterką? (niektórym się to udaje innym nie). Jak pogodzić bycie kobietą i obecność na froncie, na rewolucyjnych demonstracjach, w strefach zamkniętych dla kobiet? (niektórym się to udaje, a niektórym nie) To pytania równie ważne jak te o zawodową etykę. O miejsce dla emocji, które się pojawiają, gdy od wielu lat przygotowuje się doniesienia ze stref konfliktu. To osobiste wewnętrzne zmagania między wychowaniem i kulturą a potrzebą buntu i realizowaniem się. O relacji Wschodu z Zachodem, o tym, jak ta relacja wpływa na optykę pisania i robienia zdjęć. Bardzo wiele wartościowych treści, z którymi warto się zapoznać.
October 15, 2019
OWOTG is a collection of essays by Arab women journalists edited by Lebanese-British Zahra Hankir. She wrote that she created the anthology because she’d been desperate to see a book like that on bookshelves, “one that brings attention to underreported tales and the women who tell them. Arab women aren’t heard enough in this space. But they’re living and breathing the region, reporting on it from the front lines in Sana’a and Mosul and Riyadh and Cairo. These are our women on the ground.”
The book covers a wide array of opinions and subjects, and features several Arab countries, although I found that it was a bit too centred around Syrian and Lebanese journalists. I would’ve loved to see more from Maghreb countries.
That being said, the quality of the writing and editing is impeccable. Nada Bakri’s chapter ‘Love and Loss in a Time of Revolution’, in which she narrates the loss of her journalist husband Anthony while he was reporting the Syrian conflict, is beautiful. The story is utterly heartbreaking, and her ability to convey pain is truly remarkable.
My favourite chapter is Natacha Yazbeck’s essay ‘Spin’. It chronicles the story of her family’s immigration from Lebanon in such a moving way. It is a captivating and moving story, and her storytelling is incredible. Also, she made the most gorgeous reference to my favourite Toni Morrison novel, and I must admit I was sold pretty quickly.
I have to say though, I felt an overwhelming presence of secularism, which of course isn’t a problem, but I wish there’d been more representation of religious points of view (any religion). There’s also this recurring anti-hijab sentiment every now and then that I was a bit annoyed at, but I was expecting it a bit. There’s one chapter that I unfortunately rolled my eyes at throughout.
Overall this is an incredible book, one I had been looking forward to reading a lot and which didn’t disappoint. It is extremely informative, it will teach you so much about the MENA region, it is nuanced and it is difficult not to be moved by the different accounts. I was so humbled and impressed by these women’s courage and willingness to report such authentic stories. I highly recommend.
The book covers a wide array of opinions and subjects, and features several Arab countries, although I found that it was a bit too centred around Syrian and Lebanese journalists. I would’ve loved to see more from Maghreb countries.
That being said, the quality of the writing and editing is impeccable. Nada Bakri’s chapter ‘Love and Loss in a Time of Revolution’, in which she narrates the loss of her journalist husband Anthony while he was reporting the Syrian conflict, is beautiful. The story is utterly heartbreaking, and her ability to convey pain is truly remarkable.
My favourite chapter is Natacha Yazbeck’s essay ‘Spin’. It chronicles the story of her family’s immigration from Lebanon in such a moving way. It is a captivating and moving story, and her storytelling is incredible. Also, she made the most gorgeous reference to my favourite Toni Morrison novel, and I must admit I was sold pretty quickly.
I have to say though, I felt an overwhelming presence of secularism, which of course isn’t a problem, but I wish there’d been more representation of religious points of view (any religion). There’s also this recurring anti-hijab sentiment every now and then that I was a bit annoyed at, but I was expecting it a bit. There’s one chapter that I unfortunately rolled my eyes at throughout.
Overall this is an incredible book, one I had been looking forward to reading a lot and which didn’t disappoint. It is extremely informative, it will teach you so much about the MENA region, it is nuanced and it is difficult not to be moved by the different accounts. I was so humbled and impressed by these women’s courage and willingness to report such authentic stories. I highly recommend.
November 26, 2023
Some of the essays were more successful than others but overall a fascinating look on reporting in the Middle East.
December 17, 2020
"There is a special kind of resilience and beauty in those tucked-away spots of life. I want you all to see the true beauty of my suffering country. With my camera, I strive to empower, not victimize, the people in my images." ~ Amira Al-Sharif
An emotional collection of essays, Our Women on the Ground offered me a small insight into the lives of several Arab women who are journalists and photo-journalists. The women in this collection ranged in backgrounds and experiences, which served to offer a multitude of views on their experiences.
The common ground between these women being they are journalists who put themselves often on the front-line and into danger and they were working in a sphere, particularly in the Arab world that is dominated by men. And whilst this collection offers insights into the difficulties of being a female journalist in the Arab world, whether that is because of restrictions on women's access to public spaces or traditional preconceptions that journalism isn't women's work.
The most interesting and inspiring aspect of this book was the resilience of the women. Many of these women put themselves into great danger, they face police questioning, smuggled themselves across borders, faced harassment, put themselves into live war zones and more. This was often at detriment to personal and family relationships.
And beneath all of this, these women still spoke of love, of hope, of the connections and relationships they built with their informers and the individuals they reported on. The battle these journalists underwent to show the lives of the everyday women and children and the communities that continue to thrive and suffer as their countries battle through wars and civil wars.
It's difficult to unpick such a complex collection of essays to an individual level as each one helps to build the collection and offer a brief, but important insight into the experiences of the women who contribute. I think this is a must read for everybody.
February 21, 2021
"As professional journalists we must continue to nurture, encourage, support, protect, and fight for those who make this choice. We must also make sure more women are among their ranks, because without them the stories of today and tomorrow will remain only partly told." -Christiane Amanpour
These stories felt so RAW. It was unquestionable these 19 sahafiyat, female journalists, are heroes. (Lebanese, Sudanese, Syrian, Palestinian, Egyptian, Yemeni, Libyan, and based in all parts of Middle East.) They are risking their lives in order for others to get this information and for possible change to occur. They are journalists—amplifying information, empowering women, and reporting stories—and women who fight on a personal level. It was harrowing to read about how brutal it is, the restrictions and near-death situations they went through sometimes, and the sides that we don't see in the news. These women recount their experiences with events that are so recent yet I was ignorant about. I found "Between the Explosions" by Asmaa Al-Ghoul really resonated with my conflicting relationship with journalism. All of these essays, however, express the resilience of these women, the effects and impact of their country on them, and the much needed work left.
These stories felt so RAW. It was unquestionable these 19 sahafiyat, female journalists, are heroes. (Lebanese, Sudanese, Syrian, Palestinian, Egyptian, Yemeni, Libyan, and based in all parts of Middle East.) They are risking their lives in order for others to get this information and for possible change to occur. They are journalists—amplifying information, empowering women, and reporting stories—and women who fight on a personal level. It was harrowing to read about how brutal it is, the restrictions and near-death situations they went through sometimes, and the sides that we don't see in the news. These women recount their experiences with events that are so recent yet I was ignorant about. I found "Between the Explosions" by Asmaa Al-Ghoul really resonated with my conflicting relationship with journalism. All of these essays, however, express the resilience of these women, the effects and impact of their country on them, and the much needed work left.
January 12, 2020
i don't know this didn't really grip me despite its obvious importance. i think the format kind of stunted the essays and flattened most nuance out of the topic because they were all just fairly neat summaries of the journalists' careers up until the point of writing. and obviously there is still a lot of ongoing unrest and war and misogyny, etc etc etc, that it feels weird when those huge issues have to be tied up nicely after only 10 pages with the author.
June 13, 2021
“ The journalistic norm of ‘keeping a distance with your sources’ is, to me, an abstract concept, as removed from reality as ‘living alone on an island’. My sources are my schoolmates, relatives, and family-members. And those death counts flashing on your screens contain my first lovers, teachers, neighbours, and friends”
- Zaina Erhaim from Hurma
- Zaina Erhaim from Hurma
August 12, 2019
Important, terrifying, electrifying.
November 14, 2019
I was completely wrapped in reading this collection of thoughtful, frequently deeply affecting, sometimes uplifting and sometimes heartbreaking essays detailing the experiences of 19 female journalists writing frequently from and primarily about the experiences of women in the Middle East. The writing is absolutely stunning. And I haven’t read a book that details this sort of experience before, particularly not one which is this powerfully affecting. I highly recommend this book to anyone who wants insight and nuance on the experiences of Middle Eastern women.
January 24, 2021
I loved practically everything about this book. The stories themselves were great, allowing the reader to get a good glimpse of what it’s like to be covering the Middle East from the frontlines. This perspective was even more valuable, as it was told by Middle Eastern women, who are so often overlooked in the mainstream media, despite their great talents and previous achievements. The book is also very relatable to every woman, as the contributions often discuss the question, whether to remain as a reporter or sacrifice ones own career or to have a family, while the man goes on to have his career. A question that many women, unfortunately, have to face.
This is certainly one of those books, that I only wish were longer.
This is certainly one of those books, that I only wish were longer.
January 27, 2024
Marvelous. Slight Shaun King jumpscare but all is forgiven. 10/10.
November 19, 2019
When Marie Colvin was murder, many people in the world mourned Yet, not to diminish her importance it should be noted that she was a Western journalist reporting on the Middle East. There had been and still are, Middle Eastern journalist who have been killed or imprisoned for the same reasons that Colvin was targeted. They do not get the same attention in the Western media for a variety of reasons: skin color, political viewpoint, and, perhaps least offensive, limited to no publication in Western media. Hankir’s collection does much to rectify that.
Each essay in the collection is by a woman who reports from the Arab world and is Arab herself. The Introduction places the reporters in context – in the history of reporting in the Arab world as well as reporting as a woman in the Arab world. The essays range from personal to commentary to reflection.
“An Orange Bra in Riyadh” by Donna Abu-Nas is in many ways the stellar standout in a group of stellar essays. In part this is because it deals with the changes in Saudi Arabia and how she experienced them as a working journalist, but also because it mentions the murder of Khashoggi. It also ensures that you never take little freedoms for granted again.
There are a few essays that deal with the death of fellow journalists – be they friends, husbands, or mentors. And these are particularly touching and powerful. But “On a Belated Encounter with Gender” by Lina Attalah is especially moving for it focuses on the issues of deciding to become a journalist in a family that is traditional.
The book is divided into sections, and of the course, the Exile section which deals with Syria is important to read simply because of perspective, but the essays also show case aspects of life that did not normally make it into Western news, presenting a more nuanced view of the area.
This collection of essays is highly recommended.
March 10, 2024
does not shy from the struggles that these women, and the women whose stories they've covered, have faced while also breaking with stereotypes of women in the region simply as passive victims
also hull mention!!!
also hull mention!!!
June 12, 2023
4.5*
the entire time i was reading this book, I had this Mahmoud Darwish quote running through my head:
“The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. That old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don't know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.”
this is one of those books that begs to be read and that i feel like everyone needs to read. it is heartbreak at every single page for every reason imaginable. for everything the west has done to MENA (middle eastern north african) countries. for all of the spoiled potential. for all of the blood shed, homes destroyed, lives ruined.
the stories of the MENA world are stories that few people hear of and even fewer care about which is part of the heartbreak. this book feels like a call into into the air: “My people are dying. Can you hear me? Will you care once the hashtag runs out of circulation?” The answer is always no.
I urge you to read this book, I urge you to know what goes on in these countries, in our homelands. that is the only shot there is at freedom which is why journalism is so important especially the journalism done by these brave women who face the inter-sectionalism of being women in conservative countries
the entire time i was reading this book, I had this Mahmoud Darwish quote running through my head:
“The war will end, and leaders will shake hands. That old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son. And those children will keep waiting for their hero father. I don't know who sold our homeland, but I saw who paid the price.”
this is one of those books that begs to be read and that i feel like everyone needs to read. it is heartbreak at every single page for every reason imaginable. for everything the west has done to MENA (middle eastern north african) countries. for all of the spoiled potential. for all of the blood shed, homes destroyed, lives ruined.
the stories of the MENA world are stories that few people hear of and even fewer care about which is part of the heartbreak. this book feels like a call into into the air: “My people are dying. Can you hear me? Will you care once the hashtag runs out of circulation?” The answer is always no.
I urge you to read this book, I urge you to know what goes on in these countries, in our homelands. that is the only shot there is at freedom which is why journalism is so important especially the journalism done by these brave women who face the inter-sectionalism of being women in conservative countries
June 16, 2023
A heartbreaking collection of essays from Arab and Arab diaspora women journalists primarily centred on their reporting on the Arab Spring and subsequent overtaking of ISIS. Although there are a few duds, which is expected in any collection, many of the stories are extremely moving and shed light on a region where I personally come from. I didn’t expect to go into this book relating especially to the Arab diaspora conflict of how I relate to the country my parents came from. I ended up tearing up more than once when reading of the devastation that many Iraqi have (and still are!) gone through. There is so much brokenness in the world, and these women have gone through much to report it back.
“Later, standing inside their charred apartment picking through heaps of trash to find family photos and other mementos, I asked her husband, a forty-six-year-old builder, what he planned to do now. He gazed at the horizon, his eyes watering, and said he would rebuild their home, of course.
‘What’s a home without neighbours and a town without people, though, is it still home?’ he asked. He then smiled sadly and answered his own question: ‘They will come back, everything needs time and patience.’”
“Later, standing inside their charred apartment picking through heaps of trash to find family photos and other mementos, I asked her husband, a forty-six-year-old builder, what he planned to do now. He gazed at the horizon, his eyes watering, and said he would rebuild their home, of course.
‘What’s a home without neighbours and a town without people, though, is it still home?’ he asked. He then smiled sadly and answered his own question: ‘They will come back, everything needs time and patience.’”
February 8, 2022
I certainly won't remember all the timelines and specific details of wars from this read, but I'll definitely remember the emotions of these women as they lived through those moments.
Was a wonderfully fresh look into the lives of female journalists in the Arab world. It dispels some stereotypes and perhaps reinforces some, but mostly brings out the nuances that we miss out on when we look at policies and politics with only a bird's-eye view.
Was a wonderfully fresh look into the lives of female journalists in the Arab world. It dispels some stereotypes and perhaps reinforces some, but mostly brings out the nuances that we miss out on when we look at policies and politics with only a bird's-eye view.
November 18, 2023
Upea ja monipuolinen esseekokoelma Lähi-Idästä, 19 upealta ja omaääniseltä naisjournalistilta. Pääosin tekstit olivat elämäkerrallisia tarinoita siitä, miten kirjoittajat ovat päätyneet kirjoittamaan tai valokuvaamaan, mutta jokaiseen mahtui myös pala ympäröivää elämää aina Sudanista Libanoniin, Saudi-Arabiasta Libyaan, Palestiinasta Egyptiin, Jemeniä, Syyriaa, Irakia ja Marokkoa unohtamatta. Esseet sijoittuivat pääsääntöisesti Arabikevään aikoihin, mutta ne antavat syvempää ymmärrystä Lähi-Idän poliittisesta tilanteesta, sisällissotien rikkovista juurista ja esimerkiksi palestiinalaisten kokemasta sorrosta myös 2020-luvun lukijalle.
Read
March 21, 2022(8/10)
August 6, 2023
Absolutely engrossing. I really enjoyed and appreciated it!
December 10, 2023
These women live through wars, societal oppression and misogyny while reporting on their (neighboring) countries. Reading this teaches me so much more than any Arab/Middle Eastern history book could ever - their unique experiences and the context they provide (the flourishing tourism in Syria in the 90s, the sexism they experience, the slow secularization of Saudi…)
This is what books are for in my opinion - to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and see the world through their eyes: 5/5
This is what books are for in my opinion - to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and see the world through their eyes: 5/5
December 26, 2019
Just recently, Twitter brought my attention to a review at The Asian Review of Books: a collection called Our Women on the Ground, Arab Women Reporting from the Arab World, edited by Zahra Hankir. I bought a Kindle edition of it there and then. Because just as I found Mercé Rodoreda's fiction set in the Spanish Civil War compelling, I wanted to read women's points of view about the conflicts in the Middle East. After all, in modern conflict, it is nearly always women who bear the brunt of it.
The collection comprises nineteen Arab women journalists reporting on their homelands. The foreword by Christiane Amanpour reminds the reader that the Balkan Wars of the 1990s brought an end to immunity for journalists. They were no longer considered objective witnesses. Regardless of gender, they became targets. Journalism has become a very dangerous profession, perhaps especially so when reporting on movements for reform in a corrupt regime or in a murderous genocidal state like Islamic State a.k.a. Daesh. We are told in the introduction by Zahra Hankir that some of the journalists (sahafiyat) featured in this book have been sexually assaulted, threatened, propositioned, detained or even shot at while on the job. The book pays homage to those who have died as well. The Middle East and North Africa is the most dangerous area anywhere in the world for journalists.
It is obviously more difficult for women to be journalists in some cultures than in others. In the Middle East and other conservative societies, societal norms discourage women from journalism. It can mean defying family and community, and it brings unique challenges and entails sacrifices specific to women. At the same time, in pursuit of getting a full understanding of a story by including the female perspective, women can sometimes enter places where men cannot go, and they can sometimes access people more freely than men can. (Geraldine Brooks wrote about this in Nine Parts of Desire, if I remember correctly). The first piece, 'The Woman Question' by Hannah Allam, begins by introducing the spaces where she found her stories during the Iraq War: in kitchens without electricity; in a bedroom with a mortar crater in the ceiling; in a beauty salon, or during 'Ladies Hour' in a hotel swimming pool. And then she goes on to say that her reports are more representative because the years of war have resulted in a population where more than half the people are women, and many of them are heads of the household because their men were dead or missing or exiled.
The footage of car bombings that was on our screens throughout 2006 seems different when you look at it from a woman's point-of-view. Daily car deaths often had death tolls of eighty or more, and most casualties were men because of the venues where the bombings occurred. That meant eighty new widows and dozens of newly fatherless children. Each week 500+ Iraqi women became the breadwinner.
I think that many Western feminists will bristle at the hypocrisy of this, in a society that forces women to cover up in the name of modesty:
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2019/12/26/o...
The collection comprises nineteen Arab women journalists reporting on their homelands. The foreword by Christiane Amanpour reminds the reader that the Balkan Wars of the 1990s brought an end to immunity for journalists. They were no longer considered objective witnesses. Regardless of gender, they became targets. Journalism has become a very dangerous profession, perhaps especially so when reporting on movements for reform in a corrupt regime or in a murderous genocidal state like Islamic State a.k.a. Daesh. We are told in the introduction by Zahra Hankir that some of the journalists (sahafiyat) featured in this book have been sexually assaulted, threatened, propositioned, detained or even shot at while on the job. The book pays homage to those who have died as well. The Middle East and North Africa is the most dangerous area anywhere in the world for journalists.
It is obviously more difficult for women to be journalists in some cultures than in others. In the Middle East and other conservative societies, societal norms discourage women from journalism. It can mean defying family and community, and it brings unique challenges and entails sacrifices specific to women. At the same time, in pursuit of getting a full understanding of a story by including the female perspective, women can sometimes enter places where men cannot go, and they can sometimes access people more freely than men can. (Geraldine Brooks wrote about this in Nine Parts of Desire, if I remember correctly). The first piece, 'The Woman Question' by Hannah Allam, begins by introducing the spaces where she found her stories during the Iraq War: in kitchens without electricity; in a bedroom with a mortar crater in the ceiling; in a beauty salon, or during 'Ladies Hour' in a hotel swimming pool. And then she goes on to say that her reports are more representative because the years of war have resulted in a population where more than half the people are women, and many of them are heads of the household because their men were dead or missing or exiled.
The footage of car bombings that was on our screens throughout 2006 seems different when you look at it from a woman's point-of-view. Daily car deaths often had death tolls of eighty or more, and most casualties were men because of the venues where the bombings occurred. That meant eighty new widows and dozens of newly fatherless children. Each week 500+ Iraqi women became the breadwinner.
At their most desperate, some women entered into so-called temporary marriages that weren't intended to last long. Essentially, these marriage were prostitution with a thin veneer: men with money to spare would pay the women in exchange for sex, but because the couple was technically 'married', however briefly, the arrangement was deemed legitimate according to some Shi'a Islamic rulings.
A widow named Nisreen told me her hands shook and her face reddened with shame when she signed a temporary marriage contract in exchange for fifteen dollars a month plus groceries and clothes for her five children.
'My son calls me a bad woman, a prostitute. My children have no idea I did this for their sake,' Nisreen said. ('The Woman Question' by Hannah Allam, p. 4)
I think that many Western feminists will bristle at the hypocrisy of this, in a society that forces women to cover up in the name of modesty:
Even in wartime, women in Najaf wear abayas, long billowy robes that leave only their faces, hands and feet exposed. I remember sweat trickling down my back as I crouched in the courtyard listening to gunfire. Running in an abaya was a special skill that we honed each time we had to take cover: you use your left hand to hold the silky fabric under yoru chin to keep it in place and your right hand to hike up the bottom to free your feet. (ibid, p.10)
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2019/12/26/o...
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