‘Honour killings’: murder by any other name
‘Honour killings’ are spreading at an alarming rate, and not just in
the Middle East. What makes a man kill a family member?
Elif Shafak
guardian.co.uk,
Monday 30 April 2012 21.00 BST
Tulay Goren. Photograph: Metropolitan Police/PA Wire/Press Association Images
Gonay Ogmen is the son of a Christian Armenian family in Istanbul. In
December 2010, in the back of his car, he gunned down two young people
– one of them his sister. His reason for committing a double murder:
“honour”.
Gonay’s 26-year-old sister Sonay had fallen in love with Zekeriya
Vural, a Muslim Kurd. The couple had tried to convince their families
of their love but, finding no support, had secretly got married. They
could have run away but they chose to stay, hoping to eventually get
their parents’ blessing. Less than two weeks later, Gonay called his
sister telling her that the family had decided to approve of their
marriage and he would like to take them out for dinner to celebrate.
It was a lie.
The case grabbed the headlines in Turkey, a country not unused to
so-called honour killings and domestic violence against women. The
tragedy acquired an unexpected twist when the press found out that
Vural’s family were, in fact, of Christian Armenian origin and had
converted to Islam more than a generation ago.
Last week, after a long trial, Ogmen was sentenced to two life
imprisonments, one for each murder. His lawyers tried to have him
acquitted of the charge of “honour killing” on the basis that there
were no such examples among the Christian community. The case was
followed closely by human rights organisations. It also opened up a
whole new debate about the role of culture, rather than religion, in
the perpetuation of honour-related incidents.
Violence on the basis of “honour” is spreading at a disturbing rate.
The problem is not unique to Turkey or the Middle East. It is
happening here, too, in the heart of Britain. According to the Iranian
and Kurdish Women’s Rights Organisation (IKWRO), more than 2,800
honour-related cases were reported in the UK in 2010. Evidence from
police forces reporting suggest an increase of 47% since 2009. Attacks
are concentrated in London, the West Midlands and West Yorkshire.
Women’s organisations argue the real numbers could be four times
higher because of the stigma of reporting. For some, such as Hanim
Goren, who testified against her husband in 2009, it takes decades to
break their silence. Her daughter Tulay, a Turkish Kurd, was only 15
when she was murdered in 1999 in Woodford Green, north London, by her
father. Her sin was to fall in love with someone who was twice her age
and from another branch of Islam.
Apart from the headlines, we know so little about these cases. While
writing my latest novel, Honour, I focused on young men such as Gonay
– boys who are taught to believe it is their duty to protect the
family honour. I researched cases from Turkey, Germany, Holland,
Belgium and Britain, and conversed with Turkish and Kurdish
immigrants. I wanted to set the story in London, the multicultural
centre of Europe, where there is a relatively better integration,
harmony and coexistence than anywhere else today. If it can happen
here, it can happen anywhere.
I found it significant that women who are closest to the victims can
at times support the decision to kill or remain indifferent to what is
taking place, which is tantamount to the same thing. It was also
striking to hear a number of mothers say they expected their elder
sons to keep an eye on the modesty of their sisters. At the same time,
I noticed an enormous pressure on young men and scant tolerance for
those who didn’t conform. It made me recall Ahmet Yildiz, a Kurdish
student who was killed in Istanbul, allegedly by his own father for
being openly gay. His story inspired a groundbreaking indie movie
called Zenne Dancer.
Both the film and the media coverage helped to increase awareness
about the myriad difficulties transgender and gay individuals suffer
in patriarchal societies. Any man who does not keep to the ideal
definition of masculinity can be ridiculed, bullied or ostracised. The
passage from boyhood to manhood is painful and manliness a hard role
to play. Without understanding the complexity of the issue and without
dealing with the construction of masculinity there is no way we can
come close to solving this problem.
Violence against women cuts across all ethnicities, cultures and
nationalities of course. Refuge, an organisation that works for women
and children fleeing violence, has revealed that, in England and Wales
every week, on average two women are murdered by a male who is or was
close to them. Gender discrimination seldom materialises in police
reports.
Yet there there is something about the concept of “honour crime” that
is blurry, if not misleading. For the truth is there is no happiness
without freedom and there is no “honour” in murder.
Honour by Elif Shafak is published by Viking, priced £12.99.