Abuse of women in pakistan

Pakistani women must endure endless abuse
LAHORE, Pakistan -- The abuse of girls and women in Pakistan's patriarchal society is endemic and growing at an alarming rate, evidence shows.

Rape, kidnapping, domestic abuse and so-called "honor killings" are at the heart of a chilling statistic that jumps out of a new report by Human Rights Watch: Between 50 percent and 90 percent of Pakistan's 82 million girls and women are victims of violence.

"The level of violence against women is increasing, and the degree of violence is becoming more extreme," said Asma Jahangir, a Supreme Court lawyer and a prominent women's rights activist.

Perhaps just as disturbing, the subjugation of women is so deeply embedded in the culture "there's no concept of a single woman living on her own in Pakistan," said Hina Jilani, also a Supreme Court lawyer, and Jahangir's sister.




The widespread problems are coming to light at a critical time for Pakistan. It is the world's sixth-largest country and an emerging economic force, and many believe the country cannot move forward while allowing the rights of girls and women to be compromised.

In 1996, Pakistan ratified the U.N. Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women, and the government amended its constitution two years ago to better protect women's basic human rights.

But institutions haven't done enough to impose justice on behalf of women, advocates argue.

"It's easy to write it in a constitution, but it's very difficult to implement," Jahangir said. In reality, she said, "the rule of law is seldom enforced."

What follows are the stories of five girls and women who have sought shelter after being abused. The subjects were interviewed at a privately run crisis center and two private shelters where they live. Their identities have been verified and their names have been changed at their request.

"I WANT THEM DEAD"

In 2006, two men abducted Saleema Akhbar from her village in southern Pakistan.

She was 15.

One of the men, a former friend of her older brother, was out to settle a personal score after being beaten up. He targeted Saleema.

The two men drove Saleema to an abandoned factory in Islamabad and raped her for hours. They were joined by other men.

"I want them dead," Saleema said this spring, with no trace of emotion in her voice or on her face. "I would shoot them if I could."

Her case is not unusual here.

According to a report by Pakistan's human rights commission, 736 women and girls were kidnapped last year, and at least 354 were gang-raped.

Saleema, now an elegant 17-year-old, has spent the past two years in a shelter -- a situation her family arranged -- and is moving on with life. She is intensely focused on her classes at the private high school she attends and is scheduled to graduate next year.

"My family and God have helped me through this," she said. "I feel stronger now."

She hopes eventually to study law but also makes it clear the traditional path most Pakistani women choose won't be for her.

"I don't think about marriage or children now," she said. "I'm only concerned with my studies."

A BRIDE BEFORE A TEEN

Roshen Khan married a man more than twice her age.

Her mother, a domestic servant, approved the marriage to the son of an employer. Pressured by financial hardships, the mother saw two benefits to the deal: one less mouth to feed, and she wouldn't have to provide a dowry later.

Roshen was 12 the day she took her husband.

During the three weeks the little girl lived with the man and his family, she said they repeatedly slapped her, wrenched her arms and beat her with a metal rod. On one occasion, she said a nail was pushed into her chest until she bled. She believes the family's cruelty stemmed from her resistance to the man and the marriage.

Since arriving at the shelter three years ago, Roshen, who was illiterate, has regularly attended school for the first time and learned to read and write in Urdu. Now in the sixth grade, she studies English, volunteers as a class monitor and has made several friends.

Despite these improvements, the petite girl still speaks in a whisper and says returning home is not an option as long as men who abused her are nearby.

"If I go back home," said Roshen, nervously rubbing her hands together, "I'll never feel safe."

FORCED INTO SERVITUDE

Farhat Malik was 8 when her mother died in 1996. Her father soon remarried and sent her to live with an uncle. Last April, her uncle forced her to marry his son, her 25-year-old cousin.

Cases like Malik's have sharply risen here since 2001, according to the United Nations Human Rights Commission. The group says Pakistan has one of the highest rates of forced marriage in the world.

For Malik, there is no one to return home to now that she has requested a divorce.

"They told me, 'If we find you anywhere, we'll kill you,'" she said, referring to a recent phone conversation with her cousin and uncle.

The first 12 years in her uncle's house were relatively peaceful, Malik said, and she had the opportunity to finish high school. But her life drastically changed after she was pushed into the marriage.

Her days, she said, began before sunrise and were filled with cooking, cleaning and sewing for a household of nine. Meanwhile, her unemployed cousin stole items from his father to buy hashish and alcohol.

"The only reason they wanted to marry me was to make me their servant," said Malik, who was dressed in a simple black shawal kameeze, a traditional loose-fitting two-piece garment, with a matching scarf modestly draped over her head.

The scar on her forehead and the bruises on her arms and legs seemed to be evidence of the payment she received for her efforts.

"I resisted the marriage, and they resented me for it," Malik said.

SAYING NO AT ALL COSTS

While forced marriages can be abusive, the consequences for women here who refuse one are often life threatening.

Earlier this year, Jameela Lodhi's family notified her a week in advance of her pending marriage to a man she had never met. Her first marriage had dissolved after eight months, she said, because "I loved him, but he loved someone else."

Her father picked his cousin, 50, for Lodhi, 29, because he thought the man's maturity would add stability and security to her life.

Lodhi pleaded with her family to abandon the nuptials, but they ignored her. "Even my mother wouldn't listen," she said. Lodhi, a medical student fluent in English, opposed the marriage because her husband-to-be never graduated from high school and displayed little intellectual curiosity.

"Even if a woman is well-educated she sometime has to marry a less-educated man who will try to control her," she said. "I want to choose someone who has the same values and thinking as me."

Lodhi's anguish pushed her to the brink of despair. Finally, she did something most Pakistanis deem unforgivable: She fled.

When a woman here leaves home for any reason, families typically consider it a great dishonor to their name. Some families go to the extreme of capturing and executing the woman, allegedly to restore their perceived reputation.

According to Pakistan's interior ministry, there have been more than 4,100 so-called honor killings since 2001, though that figure is likely higher because many acts of violence against women -- especially in rural areas -- go unreported.

Today, the bitterness is so strong among some of Lodhi's relatives that she knows she risks her life if she tries to return home.

"They said if they see me in the street they will kill me," she said, referring to her father and others.

As a result, she has lost contact with her entire family. Eventually, she hopes to start over in Canada with the help of a relative, and wants to earn a medical degree.

"I feel badly that I can't see my family ever again, but I can't stay here," she said. "Our country is male-dominated and they basically want to rule women, so I want to live the rest of my life in Canada."

BATTERED FOR TWO DECADES

Saira Suhail silently endured years of physical and mental abuse.

The battering of the 42-year-old began on her wedding night and continued more than two decades.

"I was always hoping it would get better, so I stayed," she said. She believes her husband's fury grew more severe because they were not able to have children. Eventually, she said, he graduated from punching and slapping her face to striking her arms and legs with an iron rod.

According to a World Bank study from February 2007, one-fifth of the 3,100 women between the ages of 15 and 40 randomly surveyed in Pakistan's Punjab and Sindh provinces said they were physically abused by husbands.

Suhail also said she was financially exploited. In addition to her household duties, she stitched together saris and shawal kameezes. Over time she built a loyal client base and was earning up to 20,000 Pakistani rupees monthly -- nearly $300. However, her husband and his parents collected all payments due to her. "I was never able to keep any of it for myself," she said.

Suhail was able to take refuge for months at her parents' house, but she said her family turned on her once she decided to divorce.

"They told me I should kill myself so they could bury me properly," she said. "They have arms, and they're looking for me."

After spending 10 months in a shelter, Suhail now lives in the home of a staff member.

With the money she is saving from her sewing, and emboldened by her hardships, the seamstress has a goal that even some of the most progressive Pakistani women never dare consider: to simply rent an apartment and live on her own.

source:hubpages.com