9:00 p.m.
It was a Thursday night when Layla, whose real name has been changed for safety reasons, and her family boarded the last plane to Oman. Sitting by the window seat, Layla stared at the place she called home. 30,000 feet above the ground, she could see how small the country was and all of its neighborhoods. Layla extended her bruised hand against the windowpane and closed her eyes. She prayed silently. She pleaded to God to protect her from all the uncertainties she would face once the plane landed. Layla turned around to look at her brother who sat close by. He looked calm, but it will probably not last for long.
The flight was 50 minutes long, but Layla felt like it dragged on for hours.
10:15 p.m.
As she walked off the plane, Layla felt her heart pound against her chest. She breathed heavily. For once, she was grateful for the veil that covered her face; she did not want to be seen. Layla walked ahead and maintained a short distance from her family. This was not unusual — she often chose to remain quiet and distant from them. Suddenly, her older brother viciously grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, yelling, “Stay close by or else I’ll break your wrist.” This scene was not uncommon. In fact, for Layla, it was usually much worse.
They headed to the hotel.
01:08 a.m.
The hotel room was large, dark and eerily quiet, despite the low blowing noise coming from the air conditioner. Layla saw her soul leaving the queen-size bed to dance in the dark space, celebrating what’s coming. She looked at her sister who slept soundly on the other side of the bed. The airport mess must have knocked her out, she thought.
This was Layla’s signal to put her plan into action.
Layla returned to the airport after escaping from her family; the escape was planned three months in advance. She tossed her abaya, niqab and hijab in the trash and untied her hair, exposing it to the public for the first time. After boarding her flight to the United Kingdom, she felt safe.
She dreamt of this moment for so long. Layla had liberated herself.
Layla Qassim is one of many Khaleeji (people from the Arab Gulf) women who ran away from their abusive families. Her story is similar to the stories of the women Hasnaa Mokhtar documented in her research.
Mokhtar is a Saudi-American feminist and journalist raised in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. Her devotion to tackling gender-based violence in Muslim communities stemmed from her own experiences with abuse. Her writings and activism are used as tools to amplify the voices of Muslim women and challenge the injustices of abuse that are often dismissed by society.
However, like Layla, every step in Mokhtar’s journey came with great costs.
“I always felt like I was a feminist before I knew what feminism was, I had so much pent up anger because of rules and conditions that did not make sense,” said Mokhtar.
As the eldest daughter, Mokhtar was expected to follow the rules that were imposed by her family. “You’re not allowed to visit your friends at their homes, dress in a certain way, the driver even reports about our whereabouts,” she said. When Mokhtar was 18, she was expected to marry a man she never met before. When her then-husband visited for the first time, she had to cover her face and present herself in a manner that matched the stereotypical image of an obedient Saudi woman.
Mokhtar saw marriage as a window to freedom. But, after getting married, Mokhtar’s freedom of mobility and choice were stripped immediately. She was not to leave the house unless she had received permission. Whether it concerned visiting family, friends or going to the mall did not matter. Attending university was put off at first so that she could become a better wife. “I had to postpone my education because I was expected to be in the kitchen all the time, cooking and serving food,” said Mokhtar. “I received a cookbook as a gift and was advised to seek more recipes from other family members,” she added.
Despite following all the rules, she was still exposed to physical, emotional, verbal and sexual abuse. When her body was covered in blood and bruises, her family claimed it was for her own good.
A report published by UN Women estimated that at least 37 percent of Arab women were domestically abused. However, as cases of domestic abuse often go unreported, due to fear of retaliation and dismissal by legal authorities, it is likely that this number is higher.
“My experiences created a large sense of rage within me and I felt like a horrible woman, like there was something wrong with me,” said Mokhtar. “I didn’t know what it meant or how to interpret it, I didn’t have an outlet to rely on to understand these events and feelings,” she added.
After getting divorced, Mokhtar focused on her education and discovered her passion for writing. Her decision to pursue a professional career in journalism inspired her to write and speak up against the injustices of domestic violence in the region. By then, Mokhtar finally recognized her calling. Her passion for feminism and activism motivated her to enroll in a PhD program at Clark University to learn more about the multidisciplinary approaches in tackling domestic violence in Muslim communities. Her dissertation focused on the narrative power and the invisible trauma of gender-based violence in the Arab Gulf. Part of her research included speaking to abused Khaleeji women.
“In my interviews I introduced myself as a survivor and the work meant to me more than a degree,” said Mokhtar. “It wasn’t about my PhD, it was about our healing journey,” she added.
Upon hearing Layla’s story, Mokhtar empathized. “I understood her struggle because I have somewhat had similar experiences in the past,” said Mokhtar. “Victims of abuse have their power to make their own life decisions taken from them due to patriarchal violence,” she added.
After Layla’s escape to London, she was contacted by her embassy several times. It is likely officials were bribed by her family to support them in the process of taking her back. However, Layla’s return home could be a death trap — potentially being murdered by her brother for escaping and bringing shame to the family’s name and honor.
Khaleeji women who are subjected to systematic discrimination and domestic violence under the guardianship system rarely have places to turn to for safety. Many women resort to dangerous escape attempts to flee from their abusers and the country. Layla’s attempt was successful, but many others failed and were dragged back to their homes.
“You’re in a cage, an invisible cage, where everybody is deciding for you what to do and how you do it,” said Mokhtar. “You’re deprived of your own humanity, you’re not even considered as a person with autonomy, with abilities of decision making, you’re worse than a minor,” she added.
Layla’s story serves as an example of the tragedy and injustice experienced by abused Gulf women which Mokhtar seeks to dismantle. “I would hold a safe space for Layla, listen to her, validate her feelings, affirm her that none of this was ever her fault, and try to support her in her decisions, process, healing and journey as much as I could,” said Mokhtar.
Violence against women remains to be a global issue today. According to a report by the World Health Organization, one in three women globally were exposed to physical or sexual violence in their lifetime.
The Arabian Gulf has a long road ahead to heal the women it abused for decades.