The Feminine "Tā" and the Identity Complex in Arab Society

By Amina Rabah

“Like a 100 men,” “A woman’s sun shines only at home,” “She’s a man’s sister”…These are phrases we hear daily in Arab societies, revealing the deep linguistic discrimination woven into our collective consciousness.

Though they may sound like harmless sayings, they reproduce a worldview that confines women to weakness and dependency while granting men symbolic superiority as the standard of reason and completeness.

Language is not merely a means of communication—it is a vessel of culture and a mirror of power. It carries within it the legacies of religious, social, and moral systems, reproducing them constantly in people’s speech and behavior.

When we say “A woman has half a mind” or “A man is fully rational,” we are not simply repeating casual expressions; we are reinforcing an idea that strips women of full humanity and defines their existence as secondary to men.

This form of linguistic bias, known in modern studies as linguistic misogyny, reflects how language becomes a tool of marginalization and diminishment through vocabulary, jokes, and daily expressions. It is part of what is often called toxic masculine discourse, which portrays strength and courage as exclusively male traits. In Iraq, for instance, a strong woman is described as “her brother’s equal” or “a woman with a man’s heart,” as if her power can only be validated through comparison to a man, never from within herself.

This bias is not unique to the Arab world—it is a global phenomenon. In English, for example, the word hysterical has long been used to trivialize women’s emotions, and in older European languages, feminine attributes carried connotations of fragility or lesser seriousness. The repetition of such expressions in media, drama, and everyday speech creates a subconscious acceptance of the notion that women are inferior or secondary beings. This sustains the patriarchal system and limits women’s presence in public life.

In Arab contexts, linguistic bias is intertwined with patriarchal social and religious structures that govern gender relations. Language here is far from neutral, it legitimizes inequality and perpetuates it.

The French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty once wrote that “man is a historical idea,” shaped not by biology alone but by practice and culture. The same applies to women in our societies: language forms part of the historical structure that has constrained them long before it defined them.

Discrimination in Arabic even manifests in its grammatical structure. The renowned linguist Ibn Jinni wrote that “the masculine is the original form,” rendering the feminine derivative and secondary. The scholar Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd noted in Circles of Fear that Arabic grammar treats feminine proper nouns as foreign, denying them tanwīn (the grammatical “n” sound) just as it does to non-Arab names derived from ‘ajam—a word originally meaning “incapable of speech.”

Thus, the language equates the “Arab woman” and the “foreign other” on an inferior linguistic plane, performing a double act of discrimination—against both the feminine and the outsider.

Yet this linguistic structure is not destiny—it is a system open to revision. Western languages have made efforts to neutralize gendered language, replacing terms like chairman with chairperson and removing masculine markers from professional titles.

Arabic, though historically flexible and creative, remains hesitant to fully embrace feminine forms. Nevertheless, some media outlets and institutions have begun to use more inclusive language, referring clearly to “the student (female),” “the voter (female),” and “the writer (female)” without embarrassment or euphemism.

Linguistic analysis is not merely an academic exercise—it is a necessary step toward dismantling systems of social inequality. When we consciously choose words that affirm equality rather than exclusion, we engage in a symbolic act of liberation—freeing women not just from linguistic constraints but from the cultural systems that language sustains. The words we use to name people and things determine how we perceive and treat them.

Still, phrases glorifying masculinity and demeaning femininity remain deeply rooted in daily culture. When a boy is told, “Be a man, don’t cry like a girl,” we plant in him the notion that emotion is weakness and that masculinity requires hardness.

Conversely, when a woman is addressed using the masculine form, it is seen as a mark of respect or status, while using feminine language for a man is considered a grave insult. This linguistic paradox is more than social habit—it reflects a long history of viewing women as inferior beings who require male protection and approval.

Linguistic discrimination against women does not merely reflect reality—it constructs it. It shapes a false consciousness of female inferiority and reproduces narratives of marginalization, from the myth of woman’s creation from Adam’s rib to bans on driving justified by supposed “physical limitations.” We rewrite these myths daily through our words, proverbs, and concepts—often without realizing that we are re-inscribing the same oppression.

For women’s status in Arab society to change, the language that defines them must change first. As Simone de Beauvoir said in The Second Sex, “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” Language is the first arena of that becoming.

We must cultivate a more humane and inclusive discourse that frees women from the position of dependency and restores their own voice. Linguistic change is the real gateway to transforming thought and identity.

Language is not just the tool through which we describe our reality—it is the very means by which we create it. If we aspire to a more just and equal society, we must begin with the word.

Amina Rabah, from Iraq, is a graduate of the College of Dentistry. Passionate about writing, analysis, and shedding light on social and cultural issues that shape the image of women in society.

The opinions expressed in this article are solely the author’s and do not represent the views of Nisaba Media.