´óÏó´«Ã½

She is sitting on a sofa facing the camera, with a blank wall behind. Her whole head is covered in black cloth. I can’t see her eyes or her expression. I don’t know her age or her shape, her style or her plans. But I can hear her voice because she is singing.

In defiance of the Afghan Taliban’s new vice and virtue rules published last week, some Afghan women are singing. Not out on the street which is forbidden, but in their homes, published on social media. The voice of the unnamed woman broadcast on this programme yesterday stayed with me all day. ‘you have placed a stamp on my mouth’ her song translates into English. Even while she resists this silencing by singing for all to hear. The sound of the voice of a woman has been defined by the new rules to be a potential instrument of vice, and so women’s voices must not be heard in public.

Around 85 % of the world’s population practise a religion. And most religious practice places rules around the conduct and behaviour of women that are different from the rules governing the conduct of men. In Christianity, the varying degrees to which women are permitted to or prevented from exercising authority or speaking in public are often hotly debated. The acute expression of this is the continuing debate within Christian denominations, including my own, the Anglican Communion, over whether women can lead religious communities or preside over religious rituals, as I do. In short, whether and how women may be priests - whose role is in part to lead, and speak, and sing in public.

In Christian theology, this sort of debate is ontological: that is, it’s to do with my existence in the world, my creation as a woman: the givenness of my being by God – something I can’t help, can’t control, didn’t choose. And as a priest, I have spent the last almost 3 decades singing the ancient songs of the church: all the time praying a new future into being, where true equality, embedded in our ontology, our existence as women, finds expression in the way society and church are formed: our laws, expectations, cultural norms and religious disciplines.

My life, full of privilege and choice, may be almost unrecognisable for that unnamed woman singing in the dark, singing her protest, announcing her place in the world. But she is there. She exists, and I have heard her voice. She sings for my freedom too: and so I say to her: my sister, my sister. Sing.

Show less