The fate of Malala Yousafzai and the new oppression that makes slaves of women When last year's overthrow of Mubarak ended 30 years of dictatorship, gunfire and deaths were the bloody dues demanded by democracy. But with Mohammed Morsi, who hails from the conservative Muslim Brotherhood, now President, a theocracy looms, and it is women who are paying the bitter price. Proposals have already been drafted to lower the marriage age for women to 14 and restrict their rights to leave abusive marriages. Vigilante mobs roam the streets to protect wives, mothers, sisters and daughters. Now the oppressed have become the oppressors, it is women who find themselves the object of fear and loathing, the renewed targets of subjugation and abuse. Of course, here in the West, we disapprove. We throw our hands up in horror at the grievous sins committed in the skewed name of religion. But is that really enough? As a woman, as the mother of daughters, I know it is not. The international development charity Plan is spearheading a "Because I'm a Girl" campaign, raising awareness of how girls across the planet are treated like chattels and the fact that 23 million don't attend school. So, having supported a boy in India for years, I've now taken on the sponsorship of a girl - because she's a girl. Sheila, a chubby little toddler, with a shock of black hair and eyes that disappear into rosy cheeks when she smiles for the camera, lives in South America. Boys in her village may be equally poor, but they are valued more, and that simple fact will enhance their life chances so much more. The odds are stacked against girls such as Sheila. Or they were until Plan stepped in, until people, including me, stepped forward. Right now in Britain we have a unique chance to forge a similar personal connection and provide support to a cause that cries out to our humanity. As Malala Yousafzai, 15, recovers in a Birmingham hospital after being shot in the head by a Taliban gunman on a school bus in Pakistan, she has been overwhelmed by gifts, cards and messages of support from well-wishers. She campaigned for the rights of girls to receive an education - something that is so fundamental to our world that we don't give it a second's thought. In her world, learning is a crime punishable by assassination, and it was impossible not to feel a shudder of out-and-out revulsion when it was revealed that, after her admission to Queen Elizabeth's hospital, unknown, home-grown zealots tried to gain access to her by pretending to be relatives. Malala has now been mooted as a nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize and an online petition has garnered more than 90,000 signatures. She arrived in our country a month ago, and we have instinctively embraced her as one of our own and celebrate her bravery. So start signing up at www.change.org. Let this courageous teenager, head dutifully covered as befits a devout Muslim, yet spirit soaring free, be the symbol of a global movement to end the contagion of chauvinism that threatens to silence and constrain and diminish generations of girls. Girls just like our daughters. Where's my iPhone? Dunno. I need it - to check swimming pool times. Oh, I remember now. Tabitha had it. She was ringing round for a playdate, I think she was speaking to Rosamund. Tabitha has just turned four and, being a second child, is fiercely independent. And also, being a second child, she has no friends, because I can't be bothered to find her any. So who on earth is she calling? As I seize my work phone, containing the numbers of everyone I've ever interviewed, I see that Rosamund is indeed the name on the display. Rosamund Pike, that is. Sorry, Rosamund, if you were disturbed while filming your new action thriller with Tom Cruise by my youngest daughter-turned-celebrity stalker's exhortations to come out and hunt for autumn treasures with a bucket. But actually, I think you missed out, because Tabitha really is rambunctious company. Don't worry though, now she's got your number, I'm sure she will be in touch again. And again. At the risk of sounding like an out-and-out Bolshevik, can there be anyone in this country who considers a £3million house in Fulham, south-west London, to be slumming it? Or a £7million divorce settlement "parsimonious"? Apparently so. Taking the "Who are the Beatles?" tradition of out-of-touch judges and giving it a recessionary twist, Mrs Justice Baron has awarded an anonymous "lady of the manor" an £8.7million lump sum divorce settlement. Because it would be "unacceptable and unreasonable" to expect a woman of such a privileged and patrician background to live in an unfashionable area of London. I tell my husband the very same every day, but to no avail. I'm sure we're all for a fair division of assets, but jaw-dropping allusions to how the other half lives do little for public morale. Am I the last woman in Britain to take sugar in her tea? I ask only because whenever I meekly request some, I invariably plunge my hostess into exaggerated panic mode, as though I have demanded a Persian kitten or a couple of Havana cigars to go with my PG Tips. As she rootles about in cupboards and hacks at desiccated demerara, eventually a sachet of white sugar (kept for tradesmen) will be proferred for my builder's tea. It's enough for me, but not enough to stave off a 28 per cent fall in pre-tax profits at Tate & Lyle. The firm is now seeking to diversify, so maybe that Persian kitten with my cuppa isn't such a pipedream after all. Nations are either built on trust or fear. Here in Britain, we're all emotionally invested in a dwindling trust fund that is no longer providing the expected returns, yet we have no way of extracting ourselves. Mature democracy is predicated on the understanding that if we quietly pay our taxes, all shall be well, to quote Christian mystic Julian of Norwich. By "well" we mean, of course, that our elected representatives won't fiddle their expenses, our national broadcaster won't employ creepy paedophiles to interfere with our children, and our biggest bank won't jump into bed with serious criminals and then proceed to illegally launder the dirty money. More fools us. As this paper revealed, HSBC is at the centre of a major investigation by HM Revenue and Customs into offshore accounts opened for drug dealers, gun runners and fraudsters. Will HSBC be shamed? Given the slew of sub-prime scandals in recent times, we probably shouldn't turn a hair at yet another nail in the coffin of decency. But I think it's to our credit that we do. It's still somehow shocking that, when systemic corruption is exposed, we have a shared assumption that flesh may be weak but the integrity of our institutions should be inviolable. A cynic would call that naivety. I call it the last shreds of our tattered trust. A trust that even St Julian would be hard pushed to perpetuate.