Out here, there's a sisterhood of female journalists. Even if you'd never be best friends at home, there's a mutual respect among women who live with danger and discomfort to do their jobs. The attack on Lara Logan, a veteran of the world's war zones, was not just chilling but deeply, deeply sad.
We all know we're not immune from the violence that we cover. If we didn't know it at the beginning, the friends we've lost to bombs and bullets are constant reminders. Anyone who's been out here a few years has witnessed so much tragedy, it makes you wonder how happiness continues to survive.
The women I know, like Lara, are passionate about journalism and deeply committed to telling people's stories. Most of us would choose no other life. We and the female reporters who paved the way worked hard to be given the chance to take the same risks as our male colleagues.
The bravery we're often given credit for in putting our lives on the line doesn't seem to a lot of us so much like bravery but a job requirement. It's far braver I think to be open about a sexual assault. In the West, having been raped is still a stigma. In the Middle East, it's often a death sentence.
In a region where women and family honor are both commodities, girls who have been raped are blamed for it, often thrown out of their house and at risk of being killed by relatives to restore the family honor. It's perpetuated by silence.
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