Death by Sharia: Reviewing Norma Khouri’s Honor Lost

In 1999, a woman fleeing a forced marriage was shot by a contract killer in a human-rights worker's office. "The practice," explained a BBC report, "has been going on for ages in many of the tribal and conservative parts of Pakistan." Last year, a woman living near the border of Afghanistan was ordered stoned to death because she had been raped. The New York Times noted that she hailed from "the barren northwest," a victim of "Pakistan's strict Islamic laws."

Such crimes are treated as rarities, occurring today only in particularly barbaric outposts of the Middle East. In the bustling streets of Amman, Jordan, however — where the events described in Honor Lost took place — men in Western suits drive Jeeps and schedule their business appointments by cell phone. Surely those old, brutal remnants have been wiped out by the civilizing forces of capitalism?

In fact, as author Norma Khouri explains, honor killings — which derive from laws codified in 1200 B.C. — remain an accepted part of Middle Eastern life. Article 340 of Jordan's penal code allows killers to be prosecuted for "crimes of honor" (punishable by three to twelve months' imprisonment) rather than murder (punishable by death). The "honor killing" defense is permitted if the woman killed has been surprised in an act of adultery, or in a "situation" of adultery. Merely to be seen with a male stranger qualifies as a situation of adultery.

Khouri knows these laws well. In 1996, a girl named Dalia — with whom she had been friends for 22 years, since the girls first met at the age of three — was killed by her father for having been seen in public with a man. The dead girl was buried in an unmarked grave, and her killer ultimately served no prison time. "I want the world to know Dalia the way I knew her," Khouri recently told the New York Times. "I want them to know that she represents thousands of women who are still dying."

Khouri opens her story by describing some of the regulations to which Jordanian women, Muslim and Christian alike, must submit on a daily basis. Women are responsible for cooking and serving meals; they may eat only after the men of their families have finished and left the room. A woman's every decision — from what (or if) she studies to whom she marries — must be approved by a father, husband, or brothers. The most trivial infractions incur severe penalties: When Dalia's sister-in-law complains about not being allowed to leave the house alone — even to take out the trash — her husband responds by breaking her nose.

In a bid to stay together, Norma and Dalia had persuaded their parents to let them open a hair salon in 1990. Even as working women, however, they live under constant surveillance, accompanied everywhere by Dalia's brother Mohammed. Private conversations must wait for the rare occasions when the two are unchaperoned; to be safe, they turn on a radio to foil eavesdroppers.

The story of Dalia's ill-fated romance begins in 1995, five years after the salon's opening. A young Arab named Michael has been to the salon several times and he and Dalia find themselves deeply attracted. Some of the most powerful details of Khouri's book come across in moments like this; gossiping about the young man, about love, about marriage, the two women sound more like adolescents parsing a first crush than like 25-year-old women running their own business.

Because Michael is Catholic, a dhimmi, he cannot ask for Dalia's hand, or even meet her socially. The girls know as well as anyone the price of disobedience; one of their own clients, a 17-year-old, was killed after being molested by a relative. Nonetheless, aided by Michael and his sister Jehan, Norma and Dalia scrupulously plan outings to drink coffee with them at local restaurants. The girls manage to enroll in a computer class as a cover for their absences on Friday afternoons. "We began to feel like military strategists," Khouri writes. "We started charting, on a neighboring street map, exactly where we thought our brothers and fathers would be during the crucial hours…"

On only a handful of their dates are the lovers alone; over the course of the entire courtship, their physical contact is limited to two kisses. As the year passes — often with weeks passing between opportunities to meet or speak — Michael and Dalia fall genuinely in love. At last they resolve to go abroad, where they can be free to marry.

Before the escape, however, Dalia is killed — as suddenly in Khouri's account as she was in life. Norma later learns that after stabbing her in the chest — twelve times — Dalia's father had carefully waited to ensure that his daughter was dead before sending for an ambulance to remove the corpse.

Bills to enact penalties for honor crimes have repeatedly gone before Jordan's parliament, and have repeatedly been defeated. The practice is too widely cherished to be ended easily. In November 2000, a U.N. draft resolution condemning honor killings was put to a vote; 20 countries abstained. More recently, a 20-year-old Jordanian girl became pregnant after being raped. Her brother struck her multiple times with a rock, then slashed her throat and left her to die. After paying his bail, his family — full of pride that the boy had avenged their honor — brought a white stallion for him to ride home on.

According to the published figures, another Jordanian woman dies in an honor killing every week. The real numbers, of course, are almost certainly higher. Moreover, Amnesty International reports that murders committed for financial gain are also increasingly being disguised as honor crimes.

In some sharia countries, politicians have at least paid lip service to the idea of legal reform. But in Jordan — where driving without a seat belt still carries a harsher penalty than killing a woman for honor — the authorities haven't even done that. In 2001, then-justice minister Abdul Karim Dughmi was asked about raped women who are later killed by their own families. His response: "All women killed in cases of honor are prostitutes. I believe prostitutes deserve to die."

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0967673747/qid=1047107934/sr=1-5/ref=sr_1_5/002-3606957-1941638?v=glance&s=books

Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia
by Jean P. Sasson, Jean Sasson

In the course of the true life stories found in the book Princess, by Jean P. Sasson, the reader becomes enveloped in the terrible and heart-wrenching lifestyles of middle-eastern women.

Through the course of the narrative, though horrifying stories are related in a truly eye-opening manner, the reader discovers a true slice of Princess Sultana's imaginative and vivacious personality, and weeps as it slowly becomes lost in the process of womanhood in Saudi Arabia.

"The history of our women is buried behind the black veil of secrecy. Neither our births or deaths are made official in any public record. The common emotion expressed at the birth of a female is either sorrow or shame."

These few sentences, which bring about the whole theme of the non-entity of women, lead us to much more shocking crimes against women which, in that society, are not considered to be crimes whatsoever.

The stories of Nadia, who was drowned in the family pool by her father as a way of "protecting her honor", her sister Sara, who attempted suicide after being sold as a wife to a sick and sexually brutal elderly man, and a brave Filipino maid named Madeline, who was raped nightly by all the male members of the family she served under, illustrate how Jean Sasson was able to intertwine other supporting character's stories with the life of Princess Sultana effectively and believably.

Some stories, which show how these incredibly courageous women, can survive in this kind of life, bring the reader to cry and cheer simultaneously. Others, which, sadly, lack the happy ending we could hope for, are gut-wrenching due to the fact that they are horribly true. Behind the black veil of the Muslim women lie incredibly diverse personalities, characters, and spirits, which come alive to us through the voice of Sultana.

I admired how the life of one woman, who lived a lifestyle vastly different from those of her readers, could showcase such a passion for life that I was able to relate to her and her stories. While listening to her descriptions of daily crimes against others like her and her description of her feelings of powerlessness, causes the reader to have feelings of injustice stir within them. During the episode where Sultana finally uses her ingenuity to it's potential and manages to flee her country and abusive husband, you are able to applaud her efforts and cheer her on. Overall, this book becomes a touching experience for most, if not all, who read it. Through the coldheartedness of males such as Ali, her brother, and her father, it is a miracle that Sultana manages to respect members of the male race when it is entirely obvious that they have little, if any, respect for her. "I waited for my destiny to unfold, a child as helpless as an insect trapped in a wicked web not of it's own making."

Although this statement was Sultana's, it translates the general feeling of oppression hidden behind the black veil in the middle east. Indeed, these words could have been spoken by nearly every female character in the book, because they all, at one point in time, are overcome with the feeling of helplessness and realize that there is not one person who can deliver them from whatever circumstance they are in, because they are all suppressed by the male race.

The men are nearly all, with the exception of King Faisal, portrayed as the iron fist in the velvet glove. Their views of women, and how they make their opinions clear, is extraordinarily chilling and saddening. The dignity, the souls, and occasionally, the lives of these women are lost throughout the course of the book. The issues that are addressed, such as honor killings, sexual slavery, arranged marriages, and female genital mutilation, all bring to mind the horrors that still exist today. In conclusion, although this is first of all a must-read for anyone with an interest in human rights and women's rights,

I would strongly recommend it to anyone. It touches the heart and stirs the soul so that the reader cannot help but be moved by the stories of these women. Hopefully, with this book's publication, the fact that Sultana risked her life to allow her story to be heard will not have gone in vain.

Reviewer: Katherine Fritz from New York,

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