by: Anonymous

Age: 30
Country: United States

I first learned that khatna had been performed on me when I was 11 years old. My mother told me, and even then the hair on my neck rose and I had a clear instinct that what had happened wasn’t right. I asked my mother why Bohra girls were cut when there was no evidence that it had the same benefits as male circumcision. She responded with the familiar refrain: hygiene, marital bliss.

At that time, I had no idea what a clitoris was supposed to look like. My mother described it to me, never using that word, but saying that it was a “long thread of flesh” that hung out of the vaginal hood. It had to be cut because it would otherwise rub constantly against my underwear. For the Potterheads out there, the image that sprang to my mind was of an Extendable Ear in my panties, a long flesh-colored string that had to be snipped to curb continuous arousal. I had never seen a picture of a clitoris, nor could I. I’d grown up in a country where the Internet was heavily censored and the chapter on reproduction was ripped out of our Biology textbooks. That image of the clitoris as a long flesh-colored string stayed with me until I looked at cartoon pornography as a teenager in the United States. But let me be clear, because this detail about my education is a gateway to Orientalism: I had an excellent primary education, and I was far better prepared for graduate school than many of my US-educated peers. The fact that schools in that region refused to include human reproduction in the curriculum was shortsighted and foolish, but not unlike the abstinence-only curriculum I’ve learned about since moving to the US.

But let me return to that moment my mother told me I’d been cut: since it never crossed my mind that I would or could be sexually active before marriage, I only thought about khatna once or twice a year until I was married. And that’s when I realized that sexual intercourse was extraordinarily difficult for me. My vagina would convulse, and even the thought of using a tampon triggered these convulsions. My condition went undiagnosed until years later when my OB/GYN attempted to do a pelvic exam. She had no warning because I did not tell her about my difficulty with intercourse. Peering over the stirrups, she apologized for causing me pain, and asked me to breathe deeply while apologizing rapidly: “Just one finger, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry almost done almost done, and relax.” I learned that I had vaginismus, and needed physical therapy.

As I talked through my condition with my wonderful doctor, I learned that an early childhood trauma was likely the cause for my vaginismus. The symptoms pointed towards a psychological trigger rather than physical limitations, and the more I reflected on my condition the clearer it became that I had always been unable to tolerate even the idea of penetration from around the age khatna had happened to me. Any kind of insertion seemed laughable to me as a teenager, whether I was washing myself in the shower or attempting to masturbate. This points to the idea that women who don’t consider themselves victims – and I certainly didn’t and don’t – can experience long-term effects of khatna that we may not even (or ever) be aware of.

When I eventually saw a picture of a healthy and anatomically accurate clitoris for the first time, what I’d already suspected was confirmed: there was no hygiene-related reason to snip it, and far from enhancing my “marital bliss” it had all but devastated it.

But learning about khatna revealed something about me to myself: even as a child, I recognized the value of empirical research when it came to making decisions about altering bodies – particularly female bodies, which have historically always been more vulnerable. Even as an 11-year-old, I knew the benefits of male circumcision – I had just learned about trench warfare during World War II, and the infections that raged among uncircumcised men living in those filthy conditions. And as I reflect on that moment when I was 11, it makes perfect sense to me that I chose a career in research.

Another thing I recognized is that not only is the term “victim” disempowering when referring to women who have experienced khatna, but also entirely inaccurate. Activists have argued against the term “victim” for decades, particularly when it comes to describing women and gender-queer survivors of physical abuse. However, the term is misleading too. It is an easy label assigned by the status quo, and a particularly effective way for those in power to demonstrate their investment in “women’s issues.” It is a gateway to continued imperialism, where the narratives of marginalized groups are stripped of nuance, or hidden entirely.

It has been incredibly easy, even comforting, to vilify Dr. Jumana Nagarwala for performing khatna in the US. But let us not buy into the clash-of-civilizations narrative. Each time a US news outlet says the practice will not be “tolerated in the US,” there is an implied comparison to those “backward” countries that tacitly endorse it. Additionally, it implies a wounded nationalism, where (White, male) individuals are almost more outraged that it is happening in the United States than that it is happening at all. And so we are forced to view the practice through an imperial lens. We must not let khatna become a political talking point for US politicians to show how they have “zero tolerance” for “brutal” practices while forwarding a facile concern for women’s rights.  We must not forget that khatna is endorsed by the largely male leadership of the Bohra jamaat. While Dr. Nagarwala is culpable, and there is no question that she must face legal action, she has been turned into a scapegoat by both US discourse and the Dawoodi Bohra leadership.

This is a brief account of how khatna shapes my personal narrative, but I want to complicate some of the stereotypes that public discourse about khatna is attempting to forward: that it is an Islamic practice (it is not), that it is a result of poor formal education (again, no), or that it is a violent and barbaric practice that consumes the victim – the answer to that is more complicated than a yes or a no, should someone actually care to engage those who have experienced khatna.  

By: Anonymous

Country: United Kingdom

The past few days have been an emotional rollercoaster for me.  I deeply believe in the values that Sahiyo espouses and wholeheartedly wish for the practice of FGC to end. To my dismay, I have witnessed a hate campaign against not only Sahiyo but the brave people who have been vocal against this practice.

To those who say that Sahiyo is not their voice, I would like to clarify what Sahiyo is. Sahiyo is a cacophony of voices, a roar from a collective of activists whose voices unite. We are individuals who speak for ourselves and on behalf of minors, who have tried and continue to try to engage in dialogue to end this practice. In return, we have received silence and now slander. Our character, faith, morals, and intentions have been questioned and attacked.

I, along with the community of activists who share my sentiments, do not speak on behalf of Sahiyo, or indeed any other adult. I speak on behalf of young girls who are forever altered without their consent; I speak on behalf of the innocent young girls across the world who have undergone this procedure or who will do so in the future; I speak on behalf of the girls who do not have a voice and are not old enough to understand what is happening to them and I speak on behalf of my 7-year-old self, who did not choose to undergo a procedure that has affected me for decades and will continue to do so.

Now that I have a voice, I am being attacked for using it. I gain nothing from speaking up. No amount of campaigning will ever undo the permanent emotional, psychological and physical damage that resulted from a procedure that was deceptively forced upon me. To those who slander me, this is what I have to say to you: You are right to an extent – I do speak on behalf of others. I speak on behalf of your daughters, sisters, cousins, children’s friends, and every young girl who will undergo this invasive procedure so that they don’t suffer the way that I have.

I hope that you remember this the next time you say laanat on me.

By: Koen Van den Brande

Age: 55
Country: India

It was to be expected…

The Indian Supreme Court has been asked to look at the practice of ‘khatna’ – commonly known as FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) as a result of a Public Interest Litigation filed by Sunita Tiwari, a Delhi based advocate.

There was a time, not so long ago, when the Suleimani community was known for people who showed great wisdom and leadership. For example when the educator, jurist and author Asaf Ali Asghar Fyzee  advocated “the need to incorporate modern reforms in Islamic law without compromising on the ‘essential spirit of Islam’.”

FGM has been in the news of late in India as well as the US, the UK and Australia, as a result of legal action taken against practitioners of ‘khatna’ and discussions on how to make existing legislation more effective.

In the Mumbai-based Suleimani community, which I belong to, we have also been having some discussions on how to address this practice, which remains prevalent albeit more and more in what I would call an ‘intellectualised’ form. After all, we are not talking here about primitive tribal communities as in some countries in Africa, where in 10% of the cases, we can talk about ‘mutilation’ in the fullest, most horrific, sense.

The community is well accustomed with the Islamic principle that the law of the land is to be respected. In the Prophet’s (PBUH) words ’Love of one’s country is a part of one’s faith” So at one level, the introduction of a new law would be the easiest way to address the issue… Or would it?

In the UK such a law has been on the statute books for many years without ever leading to a single case in court and yet it is well-known that the practice continues there for thousands of girls.

Or take the case of Egypt, where despite a law which declares the practice a crime, 98% of women continue to be cut. As an Egyptian government official comments in the highly informative as well as emotional documentary The Cutting Tradition, soberly narrated by Meryl Streep, you cannot put the entire population of a country in jail…

A study in Senegal concluded that the introduction of specific legislation can be helpful, where it complements other efforts to educate and gain support for abandoning such a practice. However the study also observed that such legislation without the necessary work on the ground can build resistance if it is primarily seen as interference in a religious practice.

In India there is no lack of existing legislation under which FGM would be seen as a criminal offence, as Maneka Gandhi, Minister for Women and Child Development recently spelled out in no uncertain terms, in response to a referral by the Supreme Court.

In addition, supra-national bodies like the United Nations and the World Health Organisation take a clear stand on the subject. India is a signatory to the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, but it was not even on the radar of the UN until a group of women submitted a petition to recognise India as one of the countries where FGM is still practiced…

In India there is the additional problem that the Muslim minority is always likely to find a new law addressing ‘khatna’, considered by some a ‘religious practice’, an imposition by a Hindu-dominated government – even if the law makes perfect sense. Such resentment could result in the practice being driven underground and once again reverting to the earlier back-alley horrors, which so many women have attested to.

In fact, following the successful efforts of Sahiyo and others, a new site has recently been set up protesting ‘interference’, as expected. It would of course be much better if the two sides agreed to sit together to work out a sensible way forward.

Sunita Tiwari is quite clear. She wants ‘khatna’ to be made an offence which is ‘cognizable, non-compoundable and non-bailable and offenders to get maximum punishment and penalty’.  

In reality, and for many Suleimani families today, ‘khatna’ has become what a father of two daughters called ‘a minor procedure’, when I asked him about it. That is to say that the ‘intellectualised’ form of the practice already insists on a medical procedure which simply removes a small bit of skin — the clitoral hood. Such a procedure may be justified and carried out legitimately to assist a grown-up woman. Which still leaves the question how one can justify making that decision for a child.

As a result of my initial conversations and a bit of research, I wrote an article a while back in which I advocated a possible approach which would respect the view of those who consider this a spiritual matter and the rest of us. I believe this approach would also address the urgent need for reform and recognise that a large majority of the world has deemed this practice, for some time already, a crime against a girl child.

What I proposed was that the community leaders could simply teach and mandate that a woman had to be of the age of consent to allow what should then be a largely symbolic ‘cut’ and that it should always be performed under medical supervision.

At least one of the Bohra community’s spiritual leaders seems to have taken a similar view. He was reported in the media recently as saying ‘FGM should be by choice for adults’. Unfortunately this statement has become somewhat ‘politicised’ due to the succession struggle which is currently before the court in Mumbai.

This proposed approach would also address another ‘law’. It could help resolve the current dilemma for any medical practitioner who would prefer not to break his or her Hippocratic oath. This oath – ‘do no harm’ – insists that a doctor can only perform a procedure on a patient which is actually in that patient’s interest. It must be difficult for any doctor to argue that ‘khatna’ is really in the interest of a young girl from a medical perspective in the face of clear warnings from the WHO about associated health risks.

The initial response from the Suleimani religious leadership was encouraging. I learned that it is a long-standing principle in our community, to first understand why something should be done and then – only if there is a good reason – to commit to doing it.

I was also told that there is no compulsion for this practice.

I had already found out that many women were unsure of why this practice is considered ‘required’ and trusted that the leadership knew and would clarify.

Our spiritual leader felt, when we met, that a bit of research was required to get to the bottom of where this practice originated, why it was considered necessary at that time and why it is still considered relevant today.

In due course it became clear that the source of the common belief that this is required, is a book known as the Daim al-Islam.

Sadly, AA Fyzee is no longer with us, so we cannot ask him for his view on ‘khatna’ as an influential author, jurist and devout Muslim. But my guess is that if we could, he might have suggested that there is a way to align with modern international norms and to protect the rights of a child, without abandoning the spiritual ‘cleanliness’ angle.

The time has come for the Suleimani leadership to lead…

Make ‘khatna’ haram, prior to the age of consent.

I trust the Supreme Court will.

by Insia Dariwala, Sahiyo

Ramzan — the time of peace, love, and prayers; a time for family gatherings, breaking fasts together and collectively praying for individual good, and the good of all in this world.

Unfortunately, this Ramzan is showing me exactly the opposite, as I see the entire Bohra community (well almost), rising up to bring us down, in the guise of reinstating religious freedom.

Over the past few days, as this circus on social media unveiled, I have been inundated with text messages, phone calls and emails about how Sahiyo is being talked about at every community gathering. We are being called names, our personal lives are being attacked, our religious loyalties are being questioned, and anyone who speaks for us is being targeted with a lot of viciousness.

Many of those who speak for us have come back to us feeling saddened and helpless. Helpless because they want to stand up to the bullying, but are very afraid of the verbal attacks on their parents, on their relatives, and other family members. They are afraid of the humiliation, of the subtle ostracism, and the backlash from their jamaats, so they choose to stay anonymous.

Anonymity has its own comfort. It allows you to speak up. It allows you to have a voice, and that’s exactly why we have so many girls and women who have chosen to let go of their right to be visible, only to stand up against this practice. They choose to live the duality of having a voice, and yet pretend they are voiceless, because that is the only way they will be accepted into the fold.

For these very reasons, when I am asked why I, or my other Sahiyo girls, are not responding to the ‘Sahiyo is not my voice’ campaign against us, my answer to them is very simple — we never ever claimed to be anyone’s voice. We just made space for the women who wanted to have a voice. Why then are all these people feeling so threatened?

It amuses me to see how a few voices of dissent could become such a big threat to an entire community. I am also amused to see the kind of efforts put into creating content to beat us up, acquiring social media handles, blocking our social media handles, and going to such great lengths to reinforce their identity.

It’s sad to see how our attackers are just dismissing what so many women went through after they were cut. This backlash is exactly what prevents survivors of any trauma to share their stories. The pain endured may or may not have been the same for all, but the shame which they are being put through for speaking up about it, is the same.

Unfortunately, it also reminds me of what so many survivors of domestic violence, child sexual abuse, and rape go through. It’s always the fault of the one who went through it.

“She should have shut up.”

“She should have been clothed more appropriately.”

“She should have never disobeyed her husband.”

And so the cacophony of society’s empty culture and tradition continues.

Would it be safe to then say this has nothing to do with ours or anybody else’s religious beliefs? Would it also be safe to say that it’s disheartening to see, how an entire community’s faith rests on what’s cut between a girl’s legs? Is faith so weak, that it requires to be enforced through archaic and harmful traditions carried out thousands of years ago? Is it so weak that one needs to resort to bullying, and exploitation, in order to sustain its own existence?

This message is for all the women who want this practice to continue — You can hate us all you want, and trick yourself into believing that you are doing this for your religion. But no religion practices hate. No religion asks you to put someone down to look good. No religion asks you to hurt, humiliate, threaten, and isolate someone who has a different point of view. Religion is what you ‘are’, not what you ‘pretend’ to be. It is about forgiveness, compassion, empathy, and the ability to reach out and accept.  

Today, as you pray while breaking your fast, do ask yourselves, Am I all of this? Then and only then, will it truly be the month of Ramzan.

The World Health Organization (WHO)’s guidelines on the management of health complications from female genital mutilation/cutting states that the “involvement of health-care providers in performing FGM is likely to confer a sense of legitimacy on the practice and could give the impression that the procedure is good for women’s health, or at least that it is harmless.” Unfortunately, this is exactly what is happening in India. It is difficult to rationalize how a medical professional who has taken a Hippocratic Oath to “…abstain from all intentional wrongdoing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free,” can promote khatna in India.

In one part of the world doctors from our community are tried for violating the laws of their country (United States and Australia), and then we have doctors in India who are using the argument of religious freedom to advocate for a practice that is performed for non-medical reasons on a non-consenting minor girl. We have seen letters issued by various jamaats across the world, who use the hadeeth: حُبُّ الْوَطَنِ مِنَ الإِيمَانِ (Hubbul-Watan Min al-Eemaan), which translates to “Love of one’s homeland (country) is from faith”, to denounce the practice. Contrary to this, we have supporters of khatna, in India, who wish to continue with the archaic custom, despite the Indian government taking a stand and stating laws, the Indian Penal Code and the Protection of Children against Sexual Offences Act, against the practice. These are inconsistencies and we question them.

Opposition to khatna is not at all unexpected. We had anticipated it, at some level, looked forward to being able to engage in a healthy exchange of views on a democratic platform. Unfortunately, in the last week, the premise of the opposition we have heard is based on half-truths. The fact that such strong opposition exists shows that our efforts to engage the community have led people to discuss the matter and question the practice. Sahiyo will continue to work with the community to bring an end to the practice in a proactive way.

We add that that this practice is not only continued by Dawoodi Bohras. There are those from other South Asian communities who have spoken out against it too. Sahiyo focuses on engaging these communities, as well,  but clearly, the largest group Sahiyo continues to engage is the Dawoodi Bohra community. We draw strength from knowing the high levels of education of women within the Dawoodi Bohras and are very hopeful that with a healthy dialogue we can re-evaluate this practice in the present day and come up with a solution that is in the best interests of all children and women.

Last but not least, we would like to say that Sahiyo is saddened to be a target of deliberate slander, especially when the messages being passed around on WhatsApp and other social media platforms are blatantly untrue. To clarify a few doubts – Sahiyo has not started a petition addressed to the Syedna and we have not filed the PIL to ban khatna in India, either. We are only trying to engage with the community to break the silence around a practice we see as a violation of child rights and human rights. We are trying to ensure that the community is able to take an informed view on a rite of passage that can be, and sometimes is, harmful to children.

We have always welcomed healthy discussion and now, more than ever, we think it is critical to be able to engage in a mature conversation on the subject. This is what we are trying to do through our advocacy campaign, Each One Reach One 2 that has been jointly launched with WeSpeakOut this Ramzan. The campaign will create means of effective communication to discuss the subject of khatna amongst various stakeholders. We hope that our brothers and sisters are able to use these and debate the issue to be able to understand the long-term and short-term pros and cons of this practice, rather than let emotion and religion alone influence their decision-making.

(Trigger Warning: Below is the account of one woman’s experience with FGC. We thank her for being brave and sharing her story with us)

By: Jamila Mandsour

Age: 25
Country of Residence: Kuwait
Country where Khatna took place: Banswara in Rajasthan, India

That day, I was taken to the hospital to see my newborn cousin. Although the mom, my aunt, and her baby boy were already discharged, my mom told me they were still there. I was five and so very excited to see the baby. My excitement crashed when I was thrown into a dark room and a nurse put me on a stretcher. I screamed and was slapped on my face. My voice was silenced. After ten minutes, I came out of the room wounded and in tears.

I had no idea what happened to me in those ten minutes because I fainted. I was partly aware that a knife had been held towards my genitals, but a five-year-old does not have the guts to ask the adults why she was thrown into a dark room. My brain did not have the ability to understand that my legs were spread to cut some skin from my clitoris. After coming out of the room, I was not aware of that injury and could not understand why I was bleeding.

Since childhood, I have been an active person, always running from here to there. But on that day, after leaving the hospital, I was totally exhausted from the crying and yelling because of the pain that knife had caused me. I went home and slept, not waking until the evening. Upon awaking, I saw that blood on my mattress and finally, I asked my aunties (my mother’s sisters) why I bled. I don’t remember any of them answering me. They told me not to wear my underwear for the rest of the day. Even at that young age, I felt awkward about going without my underwear. I wanted to rise from my bed, to run around and do my daily somersaults, but I could not because of my injuries. For the next few days, I couldn’t even walk properly.

That day left a mark on my memory forever. After a few days, I returned to my regular daily routine. Not thinking about that day until eight years had passed and my sister suffered through the same thing I did. I was thirteen then, and I can recall her sad face, filled with pain, asking me the question, “Why was I cut?”  

What could I say to her? I had no answer to give her and it broke my heart. For the second time in my life, I went through the same emotional pain and felt helpless, keeping mum on the subject. An invisible hand had slapped me once again with the reality of what I and my sister had undergone. Even now at this moment, while I write this story of mine, chills run down my spine.

In my 20s, for the first time in my life, I really tried to find answers to my question of why we were cut. I got no answers. One thing I was sure about: it shouldn’t have happened to me in the manner that it did, even if the religious authorities had deemed it valid.

Even today, not many want to talk about this hideous act, but every pain has a scream and on some days the pain reaches out and my scream is loud. In time I did get answers, but I still wonder why the community practices this ritual when there is nothing reasonable about it. Out of a hundred women, I think ninety-eight would either not know of any scientific or religious reason to perform it, or would say they do not want to discuss it with others. If some women are adamant about being silent and feel guilty about speaking about khatna, then I wonder why they make sure their kids undergo it?

I don’t know how, to sum up this article. One thing I know is that khatna is painful, it is harsh, torturing, shattering, and heart-breaking. It affects the sexuality of women and causes emotional and mental suffering (this is true in my case).

While writing this piece, I couldn’t control the tears flowing down my face, as it expressed my pain. I request all of you who read this story of mine, please stop practicing khatna. One piece of skin should not decide the character of your daughter. Please be sensible about what happens to your baby girl. 

by Sahiyo and WeSpeakOut

Each One Reach One 2, our month-long outreach campaign that coincides with Ramzan, calls upon everyone, especially Bohra women and men, to reach out to at least one other Bohra to engage in a meaningful discussion around Khatna. Our focus this year is to move the conversation forward, by exploring ways to respectfully and sensitively engage in discussions with our family, friends and the wider community.

Since the arrests in Detroit, many of you have reached out to us asking for advice on how to broach the topic of Khatna with your close friends and family, and how to have sustained conversations with them. To help you with this, we have prepared a guide on effective communication in the context of Khatna. We would like you to reflect on this guide as you begin and continue your conversations.

In the sections below, we explore various facets of conversation: from the power of listening and the method of storytelling, to the challenges of acknowledging nuance and understanding the importance of continued dialogue. Finally, in keeping with the spirit of this sacred month, we encourage you to listen with love, speak with kindness, think without anger, and love without judgment.

Effective Conversation Guide

1) Listening:

The simple act of genuinely listening to another person is powerful. Listen with your full attention, without judgment or assumptions. Simply listen.

Instead of giving advice or telling a person what to feel or do, be a sounding board and brainstorm options.

However, setting appropriate limits is important for effective communication. If someone is being hateful towards you, it is okay to not continue the conversation.

       a) Use open-ended questions:

Unlike leading questions or close-ended questions that can be answered only by yes or no, open-ended questions help people explore their own truths and connect with their own inner strength.

Ask “What are you feeling?” instead of “Do you feel all right?”

        b) Use reflective language:

Use phrases such as

• “I hear you’re feeling…” or

• “It sounds to me like…”

coupled with more tentative statements like

• “I wonder if you’re feeling…?” or

• “Did I get that right?”

This helps people to name what they are experiencing, invites them to correct your understanding, and conveys your sincere interest in what they have to say. When you reflect back the language that people use to describe their own experience, you meet them on their own ground.

Some FGM/C-related words to keep in mind as you listen to someone’s specific language include how they refer to FGM/C – “khatna,” “FGM”, “FGC”, “female circumcision”, “procedure”. Using the same words as the speaker lets her know that you respect her point of view, even if it’s not your own.

        c) Validate personal experiences:

Stigma and trauma can often make people feel like they are alone, or that they are the only ones feeling that way. When you initially listen to their stories, it is not the time to engage in a political fight or an academic argument. Whether it is a woman sharing her experience of khatna or someone who states that khatna must be done for religious reasons, help the person feel heard, without judgement. You can share your views at a later stage.  

2) Sharing stories during conversations:

There is an art and a craft to storytelling that can be intimidating for people who find it hard to believe they have any story worth sharing, especially if it’s about something personal, taboo, or hidden. Storytelling practices support an individual’s ability to think through what it is she wants to say, whom she wants to say it to, and what she hopes will happen as a result, while retaining significant control over the use and distribution of her narrative.

        a) Know the risks:

Sharing personal stories could help a person feel more empowered and connected to other friends or family members who have undergone FGC. But it can also come with personal risks: a person may feel more vulnerable and alone after sharing her story, or might be shamed by others.

Don’t pressure, coerce or shame others into telling their story, even if it is to promote a cause they believe in. Work to create the conditions necessary for someone to feel encouraged and supported to share their story with you.

         b) Use whole stories, not talking points:

Stories have the ability to persuade, influence, inspire, and galvanize people to action. Human, vulnerable, authentic personal stories don’t fit easily into talking points, but they have incredible power to connect with others across differences. Work to create the conditions necessary for a someone to feel encouraged and supported to share their story with you.

3) Embrace Grey Areas:

A person who has undergone khatna may have experienced pain and sadness and/or nothing at all. She may want to keep it private and need emotional connections with others. She may think FGC is wrong and still believe it is a religious right. She may feel many other combinations of emotions that could seem inconsistent at the outset. It is important to recognise that multiple truths can live together simultaneously.

Issues around how khatna has happened and her feelings around it are not always black and white, and to open the door to change and new insights, we need to acknowledge and explore the grey areas. It is helpful to use a ‘both/and’ approach instead of an ‘either/or’ approach.  

       Change your perspective:

Sure, it may be easier if the whole world saw the issue in the same way you do, but that’s not realistic. Conflict exists because we are human, and because our different background, values, and beliefs mean that we perceive the world and its issues in unique, diverse ways. Hold space for universal human truths–such as our shared ability to be compassionate and loving–and recognize some experiences as specific and particular, such as the experience of some women going through physical and psychological pain due to FGC while others state they did not experience such consequences. The key is to show support and respect for all.

4) Continued Conversations:

Social Change takes time, and often we may experience that we don’t get the results that we want in one conversation. Therefore, it is important to take stock of what has occurred during the course of the conversation, and allow all parties involved some time and space to reflect on it. However, do not let it be your last conversation. Change can only happen if we are constantly in dialogue with each other.

Reach out to us at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. or This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. if you have any questions or want to share your experiences! 

Read the Gujarati version here.