I learned a new word in Spanish class: piropo, which loosely translates to a flirtatious comment or catcall made on the street. Apparently they originate from roman era and brought to the Americas by Spaniards who thoroughly spread it around as piropos are everywhere in Havana: down the street, around the corner, sitting on a stoop, and in passing cars. Some are pretty and some I’m glad I don’t understand.
Cuban women have a mixture of responses ranging from completely ignoring them to blowing kisses to replying with witty comebacks. According to our professor, who we all reverently call Profe, most women generally enjoy the attention. Over several days the debate of the pros and cons of piropos turned into a debate on feminism within Cuban culture—particularly the difference between chivalry and chauvinism.
Back home the popular debate is whether or not men opening doors for women is sexist. No, it’s chivalrous. Yes, she has arms she can open the door herself. I take the middle ground—if a person opens doors for others regardless of gender, then no it’s not. If a man only opens doors for women or does not allow women to open doors for him, then yes it is. But that’s back home.
According to Profe, women and men are absolutely equal, but that does not change the fact that a man is a man and a woman is a woman. But if I demand absolute equality (which I do), then shouldn’t I be forced to accept both the benefits and the consequences? Does accepting the benefits of sexism offered to me (like chivalry) make me sexist or less of a feminist?
A friend of mine says equality is a nice but unattainable dream and that there are differences between men and women like there are differences between people of different ages. I understand preferential seating for the elderly, young children, or disabled—but my being a woman is not a disability.
Every morning I take the bus to school and on more than one occasion men have stood or offered me open seats they very well could have occupied. On the one hand it’s nice not to have to stand for forty-five minutes on a ride that makes the Night Bus look tame, but on the other hand… I’m young, I’m strong, I can stand.
I firmly believe in the ERA, and I firmly believe women should be eligible for drafts in times of war—but again that’s in the USA. Is my brand of feminism even applicable in Havana or am I accidentally partaking in a culturally imperialistic crusade? And as a foreigner am I forced to accept the positive and negative sexism I encounter or did I get to keep my personal agency at customs?