Standing Up for Women's Rights in Armenia

Friday, 27 May, 2011

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Lara Aharonyan

You don’t work for women’s rights just for the fun of it, or to get rich. Yet some people, especially those suffering from an excess of nationalism, believe that’s why we are doing it, rather than to advance women’s rights.

You hear all these remarks about how we’re just after foreign grants, how we’re only doing it for the money. They say that Armenia doesn’t have domestic violence issues, that there isn’t rape, sexual harassment or gender inequality here, and that we are making a noise about it just so we can have a job and get rich.

We get comments like, “They’re probably being paid by foreign states to destroy our families and weaken our borders. They’re a bunch of promiscuous feminists trying to push our girls into sexual activity before marriage.”

Over time, these comments become more and more entertaining. However, their purpose is to intimidate those who are seeking advancement for women’s rights, and to pressure them into choosing another path in life.

If I’d wanted to become rich, I think I would have chosen business or even politics, but I’d never have considered working for an NGO, where it’s a constant struggle to make changes happen, where you need to report regularly on every little step you take to improve women’s lives and improve their rights in society. You often find yourself working late to keep things on track, because there aren’t enough hours in the day for the work that needs doing.

Because funding for women’s rights is limited, you end up doing the jobs of seven people and being paid far less than one.

And on top of all that, you have to deal with all the threats, criticisms and stress.

Then you stop and ask yourself: seriously, why am I doing this?

Armenia is a small republic that has struggled on many fronts, both domestic and external, since it became independent in 1991.

Unlike in many other places in the world, women are not decision-makers. They are all but absent from politics and from economic life.

When I settled in Armenia in 2003, having grown up in Montreal, it was a dream come true. But soon enough, I realised that as women, we are still considered second-class citizens. Even though the laws guarantee equality between men and women, in reality things are very different.

A couple of years ago, we marched on March 8 – International Women’s Day – to protest against the traditional red apple ceremony that celebrates a bride’s virginity. People called it a scandal. Virginity is sacred and a sure way to control women’s bodies and sexualities, and challenging that was seen as a direct attack on Armenian identity and sacred traditions.

At that moment, I understood that it’s absurd to talk about women’s political involvement and rights if we, as women, don’t even have the right to our own bodies.

Today, hundreds of young women register for the “My Body, My Right” workshop we hold at the Women’s Centre, where we try to unlearn what is keeping us from advancing, to reclaim our bodies and our sexuality, and to empower ourselves to take critical decisions in our lives.

If sexuality is taboo in Armenia, talking about sexual violence is even more difficult, and almost impossible in some cases. When patriarchal values are so deep-rooted in a nation, women are naturally considered objects, often available to satisfy all kinds of needs for a man, including sexual ones.

Two years ago, when we first started discussing sexual violence during round-tables at our centre, the perception of most women was that if you were being sexually harassed or assaulted, it surely meant that you were at fault for being in the wrong place, wearing revealing clothes or staying out late. It was never the man’s fault. Women had to take the blame and live with their guilt.

Therefore, most of them never reported such incidents to the police, and did not even discuss them with their families. They were afraid of seeking any kind of help.

We are working persistently to change this mentality and to define sexual violence as a criminal act, by helping women talk about it. It is taking a lot of energy.

The struggle is not only to help survivors, but also to fight against obstacles created by the local authorities. Last year, the mayor’s office refused us permission to advertise our hotline service in the metro and other public places. It said that those kinds of adverts were oppressive and created psychological trauma by frightening women.

As a result of those adverts alone – in the previous three months when we had been allowed to advertise – hotline calls increased by 50 per cent. This means that the need is there, and that once the information and service is available, women do call for help.

Working for women’s rights is not an easy task anywhere in the world. Some do it out of anger and frustration and refuse to remain the victim, because they had enough of being treated as less than human because of their sex. Others believe that it is natural to have women participate equally in all spheres in a democratic society.

I do it because I can’t stand injustice. And this injustice has been going on for too long, right in front of my eyes, on my own body, in my neighbourhood, among my loved ones, in my city, amongst strangers, in my country, in the world.

So when I see comments demeaning or mocking my work and that of activists like me, I don’t get angry any more. I just smile peacefully, because I know that I need to save my energy for the important struggle that awaits me every morning as I leave my house to go to the women’s centre.

Lara Aharonyan is co-founder of the Women’s Resource Centre in Armenia.