Murder in the Name of Honor (12 page)

On 6 September, the day the Lower House rejected the draft amendment for the second time, newspapers plastered the story ‘Lower House rejects honour crime bill' over their front pages.

I found this headline terribly disturbing. I called some of my reliable sources, asking if any woman had been killed so far in
Jordan after the newspapers had been published. The source told me there were none – so far.

My fears, however, soon proved justified. A source called back in the evening to tell me about a horrific murder that had occurred earlier that day.

Two sisters, aged twenty and twenty-seven, had left their family's home three years ago. The eldest married a native Arab in a civil ceremony without her family's knowledge and her younger sister had fled the family home shortly after to join her.

Then, one of the defendants had spotted the sisters shopping in a local market, followed them to discover where they had been living and informed their brothers. They then paid their siblings a surprise visit. When one of the sisters opened the door, they ran inside and hacked the two women to death with axes.

I was unable to sleep that night. I was so enraged. Imaginary scenes from the murder replayed in my head every time I tried to close my eyes. What were the two sisters' last thoughts on that day of horror? To be killed by their own axe-wielding brothers … it nearly broke me, it was just such a waste of life. I felt tired, lifeless; I couldn't go on.

But it turned out there was one vital difference. At the trial, the judge refused to offer the defendants lenience and he sentenced them to death. This was then immediately commuted to ten years in prison because the parents asked to have the charges against their sons dropped.

This, for me, was a landmark case. It was the first sign that the Criminal Court was beginning to change their attitude to these crimes.

One important activity that I think played a crucial role in changing attitudes in Jordan regarding domestic violence at this time was the Family Protection Project, a UK-funded scheme that was implemented in Jordan for almost six years, starting in 2000.

This project focused on training judges, criminal prosecutors, police officers, physicians, social workers and religious scholars to be more aware of and sensitive to domestic violence. It also encouraged and trained police investigators and criminal prosecutors to take crimes against women in general more seriously.

As a result, doctors at one government hospital started paying more attention to cases of accidental or supposedly natural deaths of women. In one of the first cases of its kind, doctors became suspicious when a family arrived with their dead daughter at a hospital claiming that she had been crushed by a vehicle carrying a water tank. When they examined her body, they noticed multiple wheel marks that led them to deduce that she had been run over several times.

The police launched a criminal investigation. The two brothers confessed to murdering their married sister, a mother of a four-year-old child. They drove over her several times to cleanse their family's honour because the victim ‘was divorced twice, was known for her bad behaviour and went out with many men'.

One of the most important establishments in Jordan, the National Institute for Forensic Medicine, played a major role in breaking the social and official silence over these brutal murders. I worked with them often, once we discovered that we shared the same goals. The head of the Institute, Dr Mumen Hadidi, has been instrumental in the fight against so-called crimes of honour.

Dr Hadidi became personally involved after the charred bodies of two sisters were brought to his autopsy table in 1996. He had performed a virginity test on the two women when they were alive a month earlier. ‘We had reported deaths of women as far back as the 1980s for reasons of honour. We felt that these families thought
they were getting rid of something bad in our society. Personally, I had confused feelings about these crimes at that point.'

But he got his answer when he saw the fear and horror in the eyes of the two young sisters, aged eighteen and nineteen, brought to his clinic one morning, escorted by several policemen, as if they had committed a major crime. They had eloped with their husbands to Egypt and hoped this would force their family to accept their marriages, but they were quickly brought back to Jordan with the help of Interpol.

Dr Hadidi was astonished by the swift police action in the case. He attributed it to the fact that the police officers, as men, felt they needed to bring these two teenagers back because what they had done, eloping to another country, was dangerous.

Although his official government report stated that the two sisters were still virgins, it failed to convince the family to spare their lives. ‘After examining them, I bade them farewell. I felt it was the last time I would see these two girls. I felt they were like sheep waiting to be slaughtered. I will never forget them. They are always present in my mind. They wanted my help and I could not give it.'

The family pledged not to harm them and returned home, keeping their wayward daughters in the family home until the day they burned to death in the kitchen in an ‘accident' a short time later. No one was ever tried.

So much of the problem of violence against women in general, and specifically in so-called honour crimes, revolves around the hymen – the proof of virginity; a literal seal of virtue. It represents the ‘honour' of the girl and, more importantly, of her family. For more than a thousand years, women across the world from Europe to the Middle East have been expected to be virgins on their wedding night – often on pain of death. The seal cannot be broken until then and as a result that first night together bears phenomenal importance for Arab women. Some so-called honour crimes are known to occur precisely when a woman fails to bleed as a result of
penetration. The bride is then taken back to her family, who might kill her for having shamed them.
¹⁵

This has its roots in numerous ancient texts, including the Old Testament, specifically in Deuteronomy (22:13–21), where proof of the bride's virginity could be presented to both sets of parents in the form of stains on the bedsheets. If an unwed woman was found not to have been a virgin, then she was to be punished by being stoned to death.

Dr Arwa Amiry, a psychology professor at the University of Jordan, pointed out to me during an interview in September 2006 that Arab societies put all the weight of their honour on women and their virginity. In particular, a man's ‘honour' derives from the struggle to retain the chastity of the women in his family. When a man is shamed in this context, through female misbehaviour, his masculinity is damaged; it's as if he has been castrated. Husbands-to-be consider virginity evidence of exclusive possession, proof that the ‘merchandise' is brand new and that his wife will not be able to compare his performance unfavourably to that of another man.
¹⁶

Dozens of gynaecologists have reported that they have performed many hymen restoration operations either secretly or with their families' knowledge just before a wedding night. In Jordan in 2002, I attended a rare and daring lecture organized by a medical centre at which psychiatrists and physicians discussed this topic. Pathologist Dr Ahmad Bani Hani of the National Institute of Forensic Medicine said the fear of not seeing blood on the wedding night is a joint factor for both men and women. ‘We have had families come to the National Institute first thing in the morning after the wedding night, wanting to examine the woman because she did not bleed.'

Psychiatrist Dr Mohammad Habashneh said, ‘Women in this part of the world are haunted by the idea of wanting to prove they are virgins from the time they become aware of this issue until their
wedding night … trust between couples should not be based on drops of blood, but it seems that women in our part of the world are guilty of not being virgins until proven otherwise.'

Dr Mumen Hadidi, who performed virginity tests on hundreds of women throughout his medical career, told me in an interview in August 2006 that it is always a tough moment for him, professionally, when a girl is brought to his centre by police where she is ‘pressured to do the test because there was no clear cut consent for the examination'. Dr Hadidi's job is to issue a certificate of ‘proof' for the family. ‘On many occasions we examine a woman and find her hymen to be intact and we write a report stating just that. Still many families are not convinced by our reports and these women are returned to our morgue tables, murdered a few days later.' It is clear that the results of this examination are often considered to be a license to kill, as in the case of Sarhan, described in
chapter 2
, who killed his sister and was excused in part by the court judgement which cited the medical report as proof that his sister was no longer a virgin, considering this to be a crime in itself.

Dr Hadidi decided to conduct his own scientific research and review the cases of murdered women. ‘I felt that there was a message we, at the Institute, should convey to people. Our role is not only to open and close the body; our role is much greater than that. We can provide evidence that helps solve social ills.'

Dr Hadidi also appointed the first female resident forensic specialist, Dr Israa Tawalbeh, in March 2003. Dr Tawalbeh told me, ‘I deplore injustice, especially actions that target women and children. At the same time, I wanted to defend people's rights and I felt by joining the Institute I would be able to do both.' She has proven herself to be a valuable addition to the team, paving the way for the appointment of another female member of staff.

Awareness has increased in Jordan. Judges and criminal prosecutors are keen to call to my attention harsh verdicts they have
seen against men who have committed so-called honour crimes. On many instances the judiciary has rejected the fit of fury argument that is raised by the defendants and their lawyers during trial. The attorney general, Judge Yassin Abdullat, has started appealing three- and six-month verdicts passed in such cases, demanding justice for the victims. On many occasions, the Cassation Court (Jordan's Supreme Court) has intervened to overturn six-month prison terms and has returned the case to the Criminal Court, demanding a tougher sentence. Of course the system is still nowhere near perfect, and light verdicts still slip through every now and then.

Many Jordanians wanted the 1999 campaign to continue, believing quite rightly that more should be done to improve women's rights. Once the flame had been ignited, it refused to die – and gradually, thanks to the will of thousands and thousands of determined people, we have started to see its positive effect; things have been changing for the better in Jordan.

Since I became known for my work, many schools and universities have invited me to speak about my experiences. In one school, I watched in amazement as children performed a play about so-called honour crimes at the end of the school year. They told me they wanted to be part of the change that was taking place in our society. The expression of such a desire would have been unheard of just a couple of years earlier. More recently, many theatres have staged plays about so-called honour crimes and violence against women, with many of the voices opposing these crimes coming directly from male actors and performers.

During 2005 and 2006, Jordan took part in the Sixteen-Day Global Campaign Against Gender Violence supported by Freedom House, a US NGO. Activities included plays at universities, lectures, training courses and bicycle rides to Parliament to demand just laws for women. The campaign was widely covered in the press and domestic violence was publicly discussed for a long time afterwards.

Nonetheless, Articles 98 and 340 remain in place, unchanged, and are still relied upon by many of those accused of murder. Senator Leila Sharaf told me, ‘Without a constructive plan of action, no one [official] will move. The grassroots movement should work on a plan of action and should continue their efforts by collecting signatures, issuing press releases, meeting and sending telegrams to officials and deputies pressing for positive change.'

I, and others, have taken her advice and will not rest until women are protected in law from these horrendous crimes. The former Prime Minister, Dr Tarawneh, has since told me that the government is determined to change Article 340, but ‘We are waiting for the appropriate timing.'

Prince Ali is also certain that the day will come when all the laws that discriminate against women will be abolished:

It is one of a few important things we need to change in this country. You cannot repress, in any way, fifty per cent of your society. You need them to work and be an active part of the society. I hope it changes but there has to be a whole change in mentality.

We are the ones who talked about the so-called honour crimes, not to expose ourselves, but because this is an issue that needs to be changed. We are mature enough as a country to deal with it and many people are voluntarily getting involved with it. You do not see this anywhere else and this is a great sign and what gives us hope.

Many people tell me that the campaign failed in convincing Parliament to vote for the bill to amend Article 340. But I truly believe that by raising public awareness and debate about the issue, we succeeded in setting a precedent for the younger generation to learn from our experience, and paved the way for people to realize
that they are capable of organizing successful marches and petitions – that in our democracy, people can be agents for change.

One thing is for certain. Even though the campaign has brought the issue of so-called honour crimes in Jordan permanently to the surface, women are still not safe and, as we will soon see, murder committed in the name of honour continues around the world to this day, and many brave activists risk their own lives to help. First, though, comes the story of an incredible event that very nearly ruined our cause.