Will old ‘joke’ about women drivers ever go away?

Why is it that mere mention of the gender of the person behind the wheel is enough to send us into a wisecracking sexist spin?

The news that Saudi Arabia will finally allow women to drive was greeted with jubilation, cynicism about that ultraconservative kingdom’s reason for reform, and something else —

sarcasm and a new take on a very old joke; the idea that there was something funny or dangerous about women in burqas taking the wheel.

It seems that old, flogged-to-death gag about women drivers will simply never go away.

The quips and wisecracks came fast and furious — there were pictures of a car decked out in a burqa arriving at the driving test centre.

There were questions (from women) enquiring if wearing head scarves or burqas hindered a women’s ability to drive, followed by a heated discussion of same.

To be fair, there was also this from poet, feminist, and founder of the Riyadh Writing Club, Hala Abdullah: “To all the men making jokes about women driving, I remind you: Saudi has one of the highest car accident rates, and only men drive.”

If you have the time, check out her 2016 Tedx recital of a poem to her yet-to-be-conceived daughter and “all the girls back home” on YouTube, in which she describes her experience as a woman born and raised in Saudi Arabia.

The first line goes: “When they tell you that you have a void in your pants in place of your independence, you will tell them that your independence lies in the creases of your fingertips and at the tip of your tongue.”

The words that follow in a beautiful and deeply moving poem explain why this week’s news that women will be

issued driving licences from next June is a victory, but a very incomplete one. Saudi women still need permission to marry, divorce, travel, get a job, or open a bank account.

Only last May, they gained the right to visit a doctor without asking a male guardian.

No wonder Hala Abdullah tells her future daughter to wave away any offer of diamond rings until she finds her own shine.

Unfortunately, that is in a distant future. As many commentators have pointed out, there is a very long road ahead before women have anything approaching independence in a monarchy still governed by guardianship law.

It did not go unnoticed, either, that King Salman’s decree was designed to get maximum positive media exposure. As well as going out on Saudi state television, it was announced simultaneously at an event in Washington so that the world might start to believe that real change was afoot.

Not least economic change because making it easier for women to commute to and from work will help the economy.

The real challenge is bringing about change in a culture that, up to very recently, arrested and jailed women when they took the wheel.

Even more recently (two weeks ago), a Saudi cleric said women shouldn’t drive because they have “a quarter of the brainpower of men”, a claim only a few degrees more outrageous than the notion that women drivers would prove too distracting to male road users.

Having said that, if you look hard enough, you’ll find a survey to suggest that is, in fact, true. According to research by insurance company Allianz, most male drivers (51%) say they would be less attentive if they saw an attractive women on the street or driving a car next to them.

The same survey found that just 15% of women would lose their concentration if the roles were reversed.

Those particular findings relate to Australia, but it’s only a matter of time before the insurers produce similar findings in Saudi Arabia.

Most of the focus around the lifting of the ban has, thankfully, been on what it means for women and how it represents just one victory in their ongoing fight against oppression.

Unfortunately, though, the king’s decree has also reignited some very old stereotypes about men and women drivers, even in the so-called liberated West. Much of it should be taken with a pinch of salt, of course. Where’s your sense of humour? you quite rightly ask.

But as we know only too well, a sense of proportion and a lightness of spirit often vanish into thin air the minute a person puts a key in the ignition. Road rage is not necessarily gender-specific but when it is, it can cut deep.

Take this recent personal experience. While I was parallel-parking into a tight spot — and doing it very effectively, thank you — a male passer-by swivelled his head, Exorcist-like, to watch what I was doing.

It was not a passing glance but a sustained inspection. Was he trying to ensure that I didn’t hit the car already parked? I don’t know.

Was he surprised that I was attempting to edge into the space? I couldn’t tell you. Was I fit to explode? Absolutely.

I wouldn’t be sure which one of us emerges more scathed from that rather revealing anecdote, but it does appear to show one thing — the gender of the person behind the steering wheel still matters, to some at least.

While that is hardly scientific, it’s about as convincing as much of the data out there which claims to show that women are better drivers than men or vice versa. (For the record, women tend to do much better than men in these surveys.)

There also appears to be some agreement that men drive more miles than women and hence are more prone to accidents and speeding.

Other studies suggest that men are more inclined to think having a flash car will make them more attractive to women. Bless them.

Let’s hope that lifting the driving ban in Saudi Arabia is the start of some real change.

Back at home, there’s no reason at all to be smug because it seems that we (men and women) also have a bit of a way to go.