(Photo for illustrative purposes only)
By Jerome Taylor
Published: The Independent, 29 June 2007
Rebin and Khaleda never thought falling in love would force them into a life of hiding. At first glance, their London flat looks like the home of any other newlyweds. By the front door, five pairs of his-and-her shoes are lined up in a row and the kitchen fridge is plastered in little heart shaped magnets and private notes.
But for the 25-year-olds, this small and cramped one-bedroom apartment is the only place where they feel safe. Two years ago, they were forced to go on the run after gun-wielding members of Khaleda's family threatened to kill them.
For dozens of couples in the UK, such threats have become all too real. Police are now investigating more than 120 deaths they suspect of being "honour killings". It has been estimated that 12 women a year die in the UK as a result of such terrifying acts.
The supposed "honour" comes from the claim among killers that they are protecting their family's reputation. Yet for those whose only crime was to fall in love there seems little honourable about the threats being made against them.
The full horror of these killings was highlighted earlier this month when the father and uncle of Banaz Mahmod, a Kurdish woman from south London, were convicted of murdering her.
Like Banaz Mahmod, Khaleda fell for someone that members of her family did not approve of. Khaleda was born in the West Midlands to conservative south Asian parents who wanted her to marry a distant cousin from her ancestral village. Instead, she fell for the boy next door.
Their forbidden love first sprang from fleeting glimpses through the kitchen window. "The first time I saw her she instantly grabbed my attention," Rebin, 22, said. "I thought she was the most beautiful person in the world, so calm and innocent."
As a teenager, Rebin had fled Saddam Hussein's persecution of the Kurds and had moved into the West Midlands street Khaleda had grown up on. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to talk to the shy but alluring girl next door.
Desperately in love, the couple were shattered when Khaleda's parents flew her cousin to the UK to organise her marriage to him. As the cousin moved into her room and began the negotiations, Khaleda and Rebin simply eloped and married.
Any notion a compromise could be reached was dispelled when more than 20 of Khaleda's family and relatives arrived at Rebin's father's house brandishing knives, machetes and guns.
Those most keen to kill Khaleda and Rebin were not the older first generation family members who had been born and brought up in south Asia, but her brothers and cousins - young men who had lived their whole lives in the UK. According to the UN, at least 5,000 women a year are killed worldwide by their relatives in such killings. There have been more than 5,000 documented cases in Pakistan in the past five years alone.
Khaleda is mortified that anyone might believe Islam justifies honour killings. "It has nothing to do with Islam," she said. "In the Koran it says a Muslim girl can marry anyone as long as they are also a Muslim and it clearly states she has the right to say no. They make you believe it's justified by religion but it's not, it's cultural. Either way, I think forcing a girl to marry someone they don't love it's like raping your own daughter."
Had it not been for the Iranian and Kurdish Women's Rights Organisation, a charity that helped them relocate, Rebin and Khaleda could have ended up like Banaz Mahmod. She had fled an abusive two-year marriage and warned police of the danger she was in. But still she died.
Horrified by the number of killings taking place in Britain, Diana Nammi set up the charity in 2002. "Since we started, we have been able to save at least 50 women's lives," said Ms Nammi, in her east London office. "We have even saved two men." As Rebin knows, men's lives are in danger too. A year after fleeing, Rebin and his wife are safe but the pressures of living in hiding are immense.
The threats have become more severe. One day, Rebin received a phone call from one of Khaleda's cousins.
"He said he was holding a gun to my friend's head and if I didn't send Khaleda back he'd shoot him."
Khaleda is still too scared to leave the house and Rebin, who gets by working 60 hours a week as a driver, says he is always looking over his shoulder.
But they are convinced they did the right thing. "We fell in love," said Rebin. "It's a beautiful thing and we shouldn't be ashamed of it. How any parent can believe love is a shameful thing I will never understand."
ANALYSIS: 'Training is needed to recognise dangers'
By Diana Nammi, founder of the Iranian and Kurdish Women's Rights Organisation.
When Khaleda and Rebin came to me last year their story was one I had heard numerous times before. As a Kurdish woman from Iran, I had grown up in a country where women were made victims both by their own family and through their government's perceptions of honour.
In Kurdistan a woman could be killed or executed for simple "crimes" such as wearing make-up, rejecting an arranged marriage, dressing inappropriately, seeking divorce or being in love. Little did I know that when I came to Britain, a place where women's basic rights are supposedly respected and guaranteed, some women would still be at risk of death for bringing "shame" on their families.
In 2002 I set up the Iranian and Kurdish Women's Rights Organisation (IKWRO), a charity that helped Kurdish, Farsi and Arabic-speaking women in London to find the protection they desperately needed. At the time, honour killings were usually treated as nothing more than domestic murders and were simply not dealt with properly. Not wanting to appear culturally insensitive or - worse - racist, the police tended not to realise how much danger some of these women were in.
Then, two months after we set up IKWRO, Heshu Yones was murdered by her own father. A bright and beautiful teenager, Heshu's "crime" was to have fallen in love with a Lebanese boy. Her father, Abdulla, stabbed her 17 times and then slit her throat, all in the name of regaining his "honour". The judge sentenced Abdulla to just 14 years in prison, arguing that the lenient sentence should take into account his cultural background.
Heshu's murder should have forced the police and the Government to confront the fact that honour killings were not just incidences of domestic violence but a deeply serious and organised crime that could not be excused regardless of cultural sensitivities. They promised to learn from her death, increase training for police officers dealing with these crimes and thankfully began re-examining more than 100 murders that may have been honour killings.
But I am yet to be convinced that the police have learnt. Last month, the father and uncle of another Kurdish girl, Banaz Mahmod, were found guilty of her murder. Banaz had gone to the police for help four times but was turned away.
Honour killings do happen in Britain and whether we like it or not we must stop them. Care workers, teachers, GPs, hospitals, welfare officers should all be trained to recognised when someone is in danger of becoming a victim of an honour killing and help them. Rebin and Khaleda were lucky. They have been able to start their lives again. But they will always be looking over their shoulders.
Diana Nammi is the coordinator of the Iranian and Kurdish Women's Rights Organisation: 020 7490 0303.
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