沙特是全球唯一禁止女性开车的国家。在2011年，阿拉伯之春运动蓄势待发之际，一名沙特女性维权活动者尝试在沙特开车并拍摄了开车过程的视频。亲自驾驶车辆时，她感到“自己就像父亲的囚鸟，从牢笼中解放出来，在房内自由飞翔”。事后两天，她被沙特当局拘留。
在沙特，女性开车是一种怎样的体验……
译者&词汇：徐嘉茵&李苏苑
校对：赵萌萌
策划：邹世昌
‘I felt like one of my father's songbirds, let out of its cage’: driving as a woman in Saudi Arabia
“我感觉自己就像父亲的囚鸟，从牢笼中解放出来”：沙特女性开车是一种怎样的体验……
本文选自 The Guardian | 取经号原创翻译
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It began as a protest and became a national talking point. A women’s rights activist reveals what happened when she filmed herself behind the wheel.
事件始于抗议活动，接着成为了全国谈论焦点。一名女性维权活动者在视频中揭露了自己开车时发生的事情。
In 2011, as the Arab spring brewed, I began a campaign to allow women to drive in Saudi Arabia, mobilising them via Twitter and Facebook. I thought that if someone posted a video of a woman driving, it might “normalise” the experience and show Saudi citizens there was nothing dangerous about it. I also wanted to prove that many of us already knew how to drive – that we had licences and even cars. And I wanted to prove that the Saudi authorities would not stop a female driver.
2011年，阿拉伯之春运动蓄势待发，我通过推特和脸书，动员女性投身于争取自己在沙特阿拉伯开车的权利的运动中。我认为，如果有人将女性开车的视频放到网上，也许有助于沙特国民“接受”这一行为，并向他们表明此举并无危险。我也想证明这样一个事实：我们大部分人都会开车——我们有驾照，甚至有车。我还想证明，沙特当局不会禁止女性开车。
the Arab spring：阿拉伯之春是阿拉伯世界的一次革命浪潮。自2010年12月突尼斯一些城镇爆发民主运动以来，阿拉伯世界一些国家民众纷纷走上街头，要求推翻本国的专制政体的行动，并乐观地把“一个新中东即将诞生”预见为这个运动的前景，认为这个“阿拉伯之春”属于“谙熟互联网、要求和世界其它大部分地区一样享有基本民主权利的年轻一代”。
brew [bru:] v. 冲泡 (茶、咖啡等); 酿造 (啤酒); 暴风雨) 酝酿; (危机、困境等) 酝酿
I asked another activist, Wajeha, to accompany me when I made the video. Because my brother was not available, I also decided to ask a friend, Ahmed, if he would come too, since an unaccompanied woman would raise suspicions. Wajeha would be the film crew and Ahmed would be our designated driver until I slid over and took the wheel of my purple Cadillac SUV. I had spent several years saving my money for the car; a car that I would now for the first time be driving on actual Saudi kingdom streets.
我请求另一名活动者瓦婕哈在我制作视频的时候协助我。我的哥哥没法帮助我，所以我决定问一下我的朋友艾哈曼德愿不愿意帮我，因为无人陪伴的女性会引起怀疑。瓦婕哈负责影片摄制的工作，艾哈曼德则是我们的指定司机，直到我躲过众人视线，开上我的紫色凯迪拉克越野车。我已经花了好几年存钱来买这辆车；如今我将首次在真实的沙特王国街道上开这辆车。
Ahmed honked the horn outside Wajeha’s house, and she practically ran out the door. Her hair was neatly concealed beneath a black hijab, but she had on a bright pink abaya [a loose, robe-like dress]. Saudi women rarely wear anything but black abayas in public. When I saw Wajeha in pink, I giggled, thinking that she was even more fearless than me. No doubt, she was thinking that if we got arrested, at least she would look stylish.
艾哈曼德在瓦婕哈房外按响汽车喇叭，她几乎是冲出来的。她的头发整齐地裹在黑色希贾布头巾下，但她身着亮粉色长裙（一条宽松的，类似长袍的裙子）。沙特女性在公众场合中都是身着黑色长裙，几乎不会穿别的衣服。当我看见瓦婕哈的粉色裙子，我吃吃地笑了，她甚至比我更无所畏惧。毫无疑问，她觉得如果我们被捕了，至少她看起来会比较时髦。
Ahmed looked in the rear-view mirror and turned the key in the ignition. Outside the compound where I lived, he drove nervously, looking at the speedometer, then over at me and then up at the mirror to see who might be behind us on the road. His anxiety was contagious, but I also felt a growing sense of exhilaration. After several blocks, we passed the local police station, and then, at last, we reached the cafe where Ahmed would stop for a lemon and ginger tea. He pulled into the car park but didn’t park until we were well behind the building, out of sight.
艾哈曼德看着后视镜，启动引擎。在我居住的管辖区之外，他紧张兮兮地开着车，看着速度计，然后再看看我，接着又看向后视镜，看看谁跟在我们后面。他的紧张情绪不断蔓延，但同时我也感到越发激动。驶过几个街区后，我们路过了地方警察局，最终抵达咖啡店，艾哈曼德将在这停留一会儿买杯柠檬姜茶。他开进停车场，直到我们完全位于大楼后方时才停车，谁都看不到我们。
contagious [k?n'te?d??s] adj. 感染性的；会蔓延的
Finally, I moved to the driver’s seat and Wajeha moved to the front-passenger seat. I took a deep breath, sat down inside the car and put my hands on the steering wheel. Although I was enclosed, at that moment, I felt like one of my father’s songbirds, let out of its cage and flying around the room. “Thank you, my friend,” I said to Ahmed out of the rolled-down window. “We’ll be all right – don’t worry.” As I fastened my seatbelt, I could feel my hands shake slightly. I placed the key in the ignition, adjusted the rear-view mirror, and pulled my black hijab close round my face to make sure no hair was visible. I reached for my sunglasses from inside my bag, placed them on my uncovered face, and took one last look at myself in the mirror.
最后，我走到了驾驶座旁，瓦婕哈也转移到了副驾驶座。我深吸一口气，坐在驾驶座上，手握方向盘。尽管我当时处于密闭空间内，但在那一瞬间，我感觉自己就像是父亲的囚鸟，从牢笼中解放出来，在房内自由飞翔。“谢谢你，我的朋友，”我向车窗外的艾哈曼德说道。“我们会没事的，不用担心。”系上安全带时，我能感到我的手在微微颤抖。我发动车子，调整后视镜，拉紧我的黑色头巾，确保没有头发露出来。我从包里拿出太阳眼镜，戴上它，除此之外，我脸上再无其他遮挡，又看了一眼镜中的自己。
As the car glided down the street, I began to compose my thoughts for the video’s introduction. I wanted to declare in a clear, loud voice: “This is my right, the right to drive.” But instead, I turned the wheel of the car and gazed straight ahead, feeling the iPhone hovering close to my face. After chatting casually for a few minutes in Arabic, I said: “There’s something to be proud of in this country. There are people doing voluntary work without pay to help the women of this country. We are ignorant and illiterate when it comes to driving. You’ll find a woman with a PhD, and she doesn’t know how to drive. We want change in the country.” Like other people of my generation, who had been gathering in city squares and on street corners across north Africa and the Middle East, who were raising their voices and their hands and using their mobile phones and cameras to stand up to repression, authoritarianism and tradition, we were at that moment pushing back against one of Saudi Arabia’s most enduring cultural taboos.
车缓缓驶入街道时，我便开始构思视频的介绍部分。我想清楚、大声地宣布：“开车是我的权利。我有权开车。” 但实际上，我转动方向盘，紧张地凝视前方，觉得苹果手机在我脸旁不停地拍着。用阿拉伯语随便聊了几句后，我说“这个国家有可以引以为豪的事情。有人不计回报地做志愿工作，帮助这个国家的女性。谈及开车，我们女性愚昧又无知。你会发现一个女博士根本不会开车。我们想改变这个国家。” 我们这一代人聚集在城市广场和大街小巷，跨越北非和中东，都在大声呼喊，举起双手，用手机和相机对抗镇压，威权主义和传统。我们像他们一样，此刻，正努力推翻沙特持续时间最长的的文化禁忌。
Authoritarianism：威权主义，又译权威主义，指政府要求人民绝对服从其权威的原则，而不是个人的思想和行动自由。政府上的威权主义指权力集中于单一领袖或一小撮精英。威权领导者在行使权力时常不考虑现有法律而任意，公民也通常无法自由竞争的选举来替换之。
I looked left and turned towards the supermarket where I shopped for groceries each week – and where previously I could only go with a male driver. I let the steering wheel glide smoothly in my hands as I made the turn, looking out so I could make eye contact with any oncoming drivers. A silver Toyota SUV approached, and I saw the driver lean slightly to his right and speak to a woman seated next to him. They looked at each other and then back at me. I smiled, and Wajeha asked: “Why are you smiling, Manal?” I turned to face the iPhone in her hands, smiled even wider, and said: “Because I am driving.”
我看了看左边，转弯开向了每周都去的超市——之前我只能和男性司机一起去。转弯时，我稳稳地转动手中的方向盘，看向窗外，和驶来的司机进行眼神交流。一辆银色丰田越野车驶来，我看见司机微微向右侧身，同坐在他旁边的女士说着什么。他们互相看了下对方，又看向了我。我笑了，瓦婕哈问：“你为什么笑啊，马纳尔？”我把脸转向她手中的手机，笑得更开心了，我说：“因为我在开车啊。”
The car park was crowded with male drivers, standing outside their cars, waiting for their female clients. Their eyes widened and followed us; I could hear several of them whispering to each other in Hindi or Urdu. But no one confronted us. I felt a bit like a child breaking the rules, but I also knew this was far more serious than a childhood prank. “Wajeha, let’s get some groceries,” I said. “I’d like to get my son a treat.” We moved through the aisles, placing items in our shopping basket: a bottle of water, a piece of fruit and a chocolate bar for my son, Aboudi. At the checkout counter, the two of us stood side by side, saying nothing as I pulled out my wallet.
这个停车场里都是男司机，他们站在自己的车旁，招揽女性顾客。他们瞪大了眼睛，一直看着我们；我可以听到有些人用印地语或乌尔都语窃窃私语。但没有人上前质问我们。我感觉自己就像一个打破规矩的孩子。但我也知道，这比童年恶作剧要严肃得多。“瓦婕哈，咱去买些食品杂货吧。”我说。“我要好好给我儿子做一顿饭。”我们在过道穿行，把商品放到购物篮：一瓶水，一些水果，还有一块给我儿子阿宝迪的巧克力。在收银台时，我两肩并肩站着，我拿出我的钱包，一句话都没说。
We walked proudly through the parking lot, opened the car doors, and got back in. Only then did Wajeha and I look at each other and break into spontaneous laughter, calling out together, “We did it!” I placed my slightly sweaty hands on the wheel, turned on the ignition, and said, “Come on, Wajeha, let’s keep driving.” She began to film again, but I barely spoke. Instead, I took in the space and power of the car and the undeniable sense of victory. I knew then that no matter what my future held, I had done something important and meaningful. That day, I felt I was driving for all Saudi women – and, in a sense, I was.
我们骄傲地穿过停车场，打开车门，坐了进去。就在那时，瓦婕哈和我看着对方，不由自主地大笑起来，一起大喊：“我们做到了！”我的手有些出汗，握住方向盘，发动汽车后，我说：“加油！瓦婕哈，我们继续开车。”她又开始录视频，但我几乎不说话了。相反，我享受着汽车内的空间和动力，以及不可否认的胜利。我知道，无论我的未来如何，我已经做了非常重要且有意义的事情。那天，我感觉我是为了所有的沙特女性开车——而且，从某种意义上讲，这确实是事实。
As I drove, I contemplated the route my driver usually took after leaving the grocery store. But I also knew that I did not yet have that freedom. After a few more miles, I guided the car back in the direction of the cafe where we had dropped off Ahmed. I drove neither fast nor slowly, but I could feel myself looking at the familiar streets and buildings that I had never seen from a vantage point other than the passenger seat. I couldn’t help glancing in the direction of the police station as we passed. It was the same place where two days later I would be detained.
开车时，我想着我的司机送我离开杂货店时经常走的路线。但我也知道，我还没有那种自由。开了几公里之后，我朝艾哈曼德下车的那个咖啡店方向驶去。我开的不快也不慢，但我能感觉到我自己一直看着这些熟悉的街道和建筑，而且是从一个不是乘客席的清晰视角看去。我情不自禁地朝路过的警察局方向看过去。这也是我两天后要被拘留的地方。
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<原文链接：https: www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/jun/12/i-felt-like-one-of-my-fathers-songbirds-let-out-of-its-cage-driving-as-a-woman-in-saudi-arabia ="">
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