Who made men owners of the night?
People's tendency to drag back any individual who attempts to break away from dominant social norms or expectations has existed in all units of society since time immemorial. We just have a term for it now that rolls off the tongue easily.
The recent social media outrage over moral policing, specifically that of women, came in the aftermath of actor Pori Moni's arrest in early August, in a case filed under the Narcotics Control Act. Before her detention and the subsequent vilification campaign against her, two models, Piyasha and Mou, were also sued and remanded in separate cases under the same act. Various media outlets seemed to be having a field day over the next week or so, treating these women with anything but respect which any individual, even an accused, deserves in the eyes of the law. As prominent rights activist Sultana Kamal said of the law enforcement and media's treatment of Pori Moni: "Misogyny has entered every nook and cranny of the society."
What was most derogatory were the terms used by a section of the media to refer to these women, one of them being "raater rani" (literally, "queen of the night"; figuratively, take a wild guess). Because what can be worse than allegedly being a woman in possession of foreign liquor in "huge amounts"? Certainly not allegedly abetting the suicide of a college student whom the accused industrialist (and a married one, no less) "kept" as his mistress. Definitely not fleeing the country after being sued for allegedly torturing and opening fire at two top bank officials, and then being audacious enough to challenge the High Court's rejection of their anticipatory bail petition. Even causing the deaths of at least 52 workers in a factory fire, where the building had no emergency staircases—what the citizen probe committee termed a "systematic killing"—will not qualify as bad enough to warrant that kind of wrath from the moral mercenaries of our society.
No, none of that is seemingly as scandalous or dangerous as an adult woman going out at night or participating in recreational activities, which are only acceptable for men to be a part of. Men need not explain in detail to anyone why they were out late at night. But do so as a woman, and you will be detained and paraded in front of the media by the country's law enforcement, so all can be witness to your "shame."
But the hypocrisy of the subcontinent's culture in shunning women for things a man can do without objection is nothing new—and it has found a fertile ground in Digital Bangladesh. This makes sense when you consider how challenging women's autonomy is still encouraged and practised in every facet of our society, despite decades of progress in education and women's empowerment.
Beginning at a prepubescent age, the girl children of Bangladesh are made to feel like they are solely responsible for how the people around them may perceive their "character." For some odd reason, the oh-so-precious honour of each family is directly affected by the (mis)behaviour of its female members. From the clothes she wears (or is allowed to wear) to the opinions she can express—everything must meet the approval of not only her elders, but of the neighbours, relatives, teachers, and even strangers. It is a lot of pressure to be put on an eight/nine/twelve-year-old child and to be told that it is, at least in part, their fault if outsiders view them as objects of sex and mistreat them as such.
Most women learn to live with these double standards and mould their "characters," behaviour and ambitions accordingly. Many even internalise such policing and help to keep other women "in check," themselves acting as tools of patriarchy.
But some others—and they have been rising in numbers in the last couple of generations—fight back in order to defend their rightly owed agency as free human beings and equal citizens of this country. Sometimes we argue, other times we use wit and irony. An example of the latter would be the Raater Rani campaign by youth organisation Meye Network, which snowballed from the arrests of Pori Moni et al, and was inspired by the media circus that had followed. The campaign included women using the organisation's Facebook profile picture frame—simply the term raater rani written in Bangla, the text illustrated as the night sky, to be pasted under your photo—and attaching short essays about their own experiences with moral policing.
These women relayed stories of why they, too, were the "queens of the night." Some were out late for work or study, others for recreational purposes—all equally entitled to be out at any hour of the day or night as free citizens of a free country. But many had to face the judgement of relatives and strangers for practising such freedoms. One woman wrote of an incident where she was travelling by a rickshaw at night when a cyclist coming from the opposite direction shot some choice words at her for being out at that hour, and spat at her. Still, she and all the other participants of the campaign declared their pride in donning the badge of raater rani. Essentially, if exercising one's right as a citizen to be out at night and to refuse to be questioned about the reasons behind it makes one a raater rani, then so be it.
These incidents and protests illustrate the importance of being progressive in our views regarding people and their freedoms—not just in the devices and technology we use. When half the population of our country is told they need to be afraid of the other half, and that their freedom of movement comes with an arbitrary curfew, it is utterly dehumanising. Moral policing is what contributes to rape culture in our society and makes way for victim blaming, no matter what the circumstances are. The narrative of women being somehow lesser beings must change. We must "allow" women to practise their agency and provide support for them to challenge and defeat the nuanced rules of patriarchy which are so deeply embedded in our society. Neither the individual nor the state alone can stop women from being judged against illogical standards of subjective morality. Battling the moral policing of women needs to be a conscious practice at all levels of society.
Afia Jahin is a member of the editorial team at The Daily Star.