Ein Beitrag von FNF-Mitglied Muzhda Ahmadi zum heutigen Internationalen Frauentag.
March 8, the day they named “Women’s Day,” but to me it is like a flower placed on cold soil; a flower meant to calm consciences, not to heal wounds. A day when smiles are formal and messages are filled with beautiful words, yet behind those same words stand years of silence and suffering.
They say this day is a legacy of struggle; a day recorded in the calendars of the world under the name of the United Nations so that the voices of women may be heard. But what is the benefit when many voices still break in their throats? When justice grows tall only in slogans but remains short in real life?
For me, March 8 is like a candle in the wind; it is lit, they take photos, they applaud, they symbolize the struggle, and then they extinguish it until next year. As if dust has been thrown into women’s eyes so their tears are seen less. As if instead of rights, condolences have been given; a short condolence for a long suffering.
There are women who even on this day work, fear, endure, and remain silent. Hands that are cracked, hearts that are broken, dreams that have been buried halfway along the path. For them, March 8 is neither a celebration nor an honor; it is only a reminder of a wound that has not yet healed and reopens every year.
If a day comes when being a woman no longer means struggle, when safety and respect do not need an occasion, perhaps then this date will find meaning. Until then, this day for me is only a name on paper; a glittering name on a cracked wall, not a light in life.
Wir danken Muzhda für diese nachdenklich stimmenden Worte.
