Rape victims in Libya 'detained'

Libyan rape victims face arranged marriages or staying locked up in 'rehabilitation' centres, writes Brian Whitaker

Tuesday February 28, 2006

For 37 years since The Leader came to power, Libyans have been exposed to a daily torrent of revolutionary ideas from Colonel Muammar Gadafy. Aside from his more crazily radical adventures, though, he has also tried to enhance women's rights and has caused a good deal of mirth on his travels - as well as making a serious point - by relying on the protection of all-female bodyguards.

Whether the colonel's ideas have made much impact on the average Libyan citizen, however, is questionable. Despite some opening-up recently, the realities of daily life inside the Great Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriyya are still very much a mystery.

One rare glimpse behind the wall comes from a report issued today by Human Rights Watch. The conclusion that might be drawn from it is that regardless of the colonel's own revolutionary fervour, Libyan society at large remains deeply imbued with tradition and, in some ways, extremely conservative.

The report concerns an issue that in Dickensian England was politely referred to as the problem of "fallen women" - those who have been cast out of their homes for "moral misconduct" or impugning their family's "honour". In some cases their only "sin" is that they have had the misfortune to be raped.

In traditional Arab societies, women who disgrace their family are often killed by their brothers in order to purge the "shame". To reduce the risk of this happening, the Libyan authorities provide refuge in "social rehabilitation" centres. That is more than some countries do, but for many of the women who go there, "rehabilitation" leads only to more suffering.

Despite their name, the rehabilitation centres have a distinctly prison-like character, Human Rights Watch says, and for all practical purposes they are indeed jails: "The women and girls sleep in locked quarters and are not allowed to leave the gates of the compound. The custodians sometimes subject them to long periods of solitary confinement, occasionally in handcuffs, for trivial reasons like 'talking back'.

"They are tested for communicable diseases without their consent upon entry, and most are forced to endure invasive virginity examinations. Some residents are as young as 16, but [the] authorities provide no education, except weekly religious instruction."

Farida Deif, a researcher for the women's rights division of Human Rights Watch commented: "How can they be called shelters when most of the women and girls we interviewed told us they would escape if they could?"

One woman detained at a centre in Tahoura told investigators: "It is as if we're criminals even though we didn't do anything wrong."

Another described how she came to be there: "My mother died in a car crash when I was two. My father married a Moroccan woman. We didn't understand each other. We had lots of problems. She'd hit and insult us. Eventually my father kicked me out. He gave me a ticket to visit my relatives. I worked in a restaurant. I didn't smoke or take drugs. A year later, my father came to pick me up because people were talking. The prosecutor told me that I could either come here [to the centre] or go home with my father."

Once taken under the "protective" arm of the state, these women and girls have no opportunity to challenge their confinement in a court of law, and typically have no legal representation, Human Rights Watch says. They can stay locked up indefinitely.

There are just two ways out: either a male relative agrees to look after her, or a woman agrees to get married - often to a total stranger.

According to one public prosecutor quoted in the report, so few families agree to take custody of these women that the "only answer" is marriage: "That is the only way to leave the [social rehabilitation] home."

Aisha Ramadan Ben Soufia, director of the home in Tajoura, described the process when a man comes to the rehabilitation centre looking for a wife: "We do our research and ask him why he's coming here. We visit his home to make sure the conditions are as he described. We verify his salary and qualifications ... He has to have a full-time job and housing. It is usually someone from outside Tripoli. We tell them [the women] his qualifications and ask the girls if they want to marry him."

In its role as governmental match-maker, the home also decides which women can be allowed to leave with a husband. "We only marry the ones without problems, the ones of good morals," the director said.

When asked by researchers why men would choose to marry a woman detained in a social rehabilitation centre, the director explained that their intentions vary. Men usually approach the centre because a neighbour has found a wife from there, because of religious sympathy for the woman, and in order to get a religious blessing known as "sawab".

A public prosecutor interviewed by Human Rights Watch suggested a different reason, however. It is "one of the cheap places for marriage", he said. "There are no [pre-marriage] expenses. It is not the same as [marrying] a woman with a family."

Women who are not married off in this way or handed back to male relatives stay in the centre indefinitely. "Their days are spent cleaning the facility, listening to religious lectures, and participating in computer training," the report says. "Their personal possessions, including radios and non-religious books, are confiscated. They are only allowed to make phone calls to family members. All of those calls are monitored."

Those who are deemed to be "good" have the privilege of working - for minimal pay - at a children's centre enclosed in the same compound as the home. "We let the ones with good behaviour work," a social worker said. "The ones that don't raise their voices, the ones that sleep quietly."

Nawal Ali, a 32-year-old woman interviewed by Human Rights Watch, had been in detention for eight years - seven of them at the Tajoura centre. Her troubles began, she said, when she was raped by a member of her own family:

"After my father's death in 1997, my mother's relative came to me and whispered in my ear and said we should get married. I was in high school and wasn't thinking about marriage. Then he started to use bad language. He kept telling my mother that I was going out with boys ... One day he went with me to buy school supplies. He took me to a place that I'd never seen before. It was rape. My mother said: 'You're lying - he didn't do that. You've been with men'."

Nawal became pregnant and spent a year in Zawiya Prison after a doctor decided her sexual relations had been consensual. When she was released, her family rejected her, so she was sent to the Tajoura centre and her baby daughter was placed in the children's home nearby.

Nawal was allowed to visit her daughter but one day she arrived to find that the child had gone. "They told me someone came to take her," she explained. "They said a good family took her. I don't know where she is now."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/elsewhere/journalist/story/0,,1720032,00.html