Dear Editor,
The fact that I no longer am shocked by treatment of women in the country is a tragedy in and of itself. Many things that I have to put up with, by virtue of my membership in the XX chromosome club, are enraging.
For instance, I - and most women - am not flattered by objectification. I know what I look like. I don't need a stranger's comments on my body, ever.
When I was told by the photographer at the Parliamentary Registration Department, as I attempted to register for the embarrassingly failed gender equality referendum, that my shoulders had to be covered for the photo, several facts occurred to me.
The first was this: In all my years going about my business in public, enduring the despicable and humiliating cat calls from strange men, never has anyone said anything about how sexy my shoulders are. How strange, then, that I should have to cover this part of my body in order to be seen as decent, when it draws no special attention from anyone in public.
Another thought was this: Your job is to take a photograph. I have not solicited your advice on my clothing choices. As far as I am aware, you provide me with no shopping stipend. What say have you in how I dress?
Following the referendum, when all and sundry literally waited all night for the results, this also occurred: Sherlyn Hall needs a come-to-Jesus. He has much more serious problems to concern himself with than determining the virtuousness of his countrywomen.
Recently, as I sat watching CNN, Donald Trump and his wife, Melania, took center stage again on the news. This woman has posed naked and is going to be the first lady of the U.S. By contrast, if I have my shoulders out, I'm told that I can't register to vote in my own country.
I am a grown woman. I make my own money. I guide my own morality. I make my own choices, and I vote for whomever I want. I do not need anyone telling me I cannot access my constitutional rights because I don't look decent to them. The Parliamentary Registration Department has its own lane, and it needs to stay in it.
- Corinne Lampkin
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