Chapter eight:

Understanding Pakistani women’s

experiences of domestic violence 8.1 Overview and rationale

This is the first of three chapters which draw on the interviews conducted in England and Wales with service providers, including legal practitioners in both the not-for-profit and private sectors, the Home Office, refugee community organisations, police representatives and Pakistani women ‘service users’. Much of the contextual background in Chapters one to three is supported and amplified by this analysis. This analysis is presented thematically and highlights the continuing barriers Pakistani women face in the UK when trying to access essential support. Whilst previous studies raise issues about Pakistani women accessing service provision (Batsleer et al, 2002, Chantler, 2001), the accounts presented here demonstrate a range of additional difficulties and potential dangers that are faced by women seeking refugee protection. Indeed, it is a matter of some concern that many of the themes addressed below continue to impact on all women nationals who seek refugee protection against domestic violence.

It is significant that the overwhelming majority of participants across all sectors and disciplines, and Pakistani women themselves, consistently raised the same issues and concerns. This is an unusual outcome for any study and demonstrates the very specific, yet shared, anxieties and frustrations of a range of agencies in dealing with domestic violence and women’s asylum issues.

Many participants expressed concerns about how services ‘break down’ particularly when women’s needs are at their most critical. They referred to the disjointed working relationships between voluntary organisations, social services and health professionals which have contributed to this failure. They also identified lack of access to resources, such as NASS funds and the particular problems associated with the ‘no recourse to public funds rule’ which further indicates how the system of immigration control heightens women’s vulnerability to harm.

The asylum dispersal system administered by the BIA186 (which moves asylum seekers around the country on a no-choice basis) can take account of cultural needs when seeking to place individuals. However, it can also disregard these needs when confronted by other priorities. This can create great challenges for service providers in more rural or isolated areas. In North Wales, for example, service providers described their own isolation from other organisations and services that could assist in supporting asylum seekers. The geography and demographics of the region, and a lack of cultural reference points, compounded the alienation and isolation of Pakistani women service users in the area.

This geographical and cultural isolation has a negative effect on the ability of women asylum seekers’ to navigate the system and to link across relevant systems and agencies, which are often separated by large physical distances, in an increasingly shortened time frame.

It is disappointing, then, that we were unable to secure an interview with NASS. Given the difficulties of obtaining resources for women with insecure immigration status who have experienced domestic violence, and given the ensuing sense of isolation, their non-response could be interpreted as an indication of the level of engagement within the asylum support bureaucracy with this indicative client group and its support and welfare needs.

186 Previously the National Asylum Support Service (NASS) ,for ease of reference, because all participants continued to refer to the dispersal and support system as ‘NASS’, we have adhered to this acronym in this chapter

8.1.2 Outline of the analysis

This analysis begins with an examination of several problematic concepts which many participants alluded to in their interviews, in particular concepts of ‘culture’ which are often relied on to formulate understandings and responses to domestic violence. This leads in the analysis to an exploration of the ways in which women and other participants defined or identified forms of violence, and how notions of shame and denial underpinned the decisions women made about whether to leave or remain in violent circumstances. The influence of community connections within Pakistan, within the UK and trans-nationally, is considered, as are perceptions of ‘lone’ women, women belonging to particular socio-economic classes, and non-Muslim women. Perceptions of the legal position for women in Pakistan are explored, as are the ways in which participants perceived the nature and viability of internal flight. The chapter examines how these perceptions are played out in case work and service provision.

The analysis progresses to look at service provision in the UK with particular reference to the regional picture, the relationship between NASS and domestic violence, the ‘No Recourse to Public Funds’ rule, the availability and quality of interpreters, and the police and legal services. A number of specific issues are examined relating to evidence in asylum cases and the problematic nature of what could be termed a ‘culture of disbelief’ within decision-making bodies. Finally, a number of key issues are considered that were highlighted by participants in relation to the impact of the asylum system on women and their children.

It is noteworthy that throughout the interviewing process in the UK, participants consistently referred to notions of honour, shame and revenge in their accounts. These themes are explored in further detail in Chapters four to seven.

8.2 Pakistani women: conceptions of culture and domestic violence

8.2.1 Culture as an explanation for violence against Pakistani women
The difficulty of using cultural conceptions of domestic violence against Pakistani women is that such an approach may allow cultural notions to ‘explain’ and therefore marginalise women’s experiences of abuse. Previous studies provide a succinct analysis of the racist and stereotyping dangers of explaining domestic violence in this way, and which may work to absolve service providers where they fail to respond to need (Batsleer et al, 2002). Earlier discussions addressed the complex interplay between patriarchal, structural and cultural frameworks and their legitimisation of domestic violence, thus underlining the dangers of ‘blaming’ culture or cultural practices alone. Participants commented on a broad range of socio-cultural factors, which place Pakistani women in a position of vulnerability from the outset and govern how women do and do not take action against violence. Such factors include: the nature and role of family structures, the commanding status of men in their various familial and community roles, and ‘rules’ which severely restrict a woman’s ability to move freely without a male escort.

Equally, the societal view within Pakistan that violence against women is a ‘fact of life’ are often believed to emanate from women themselves. Gender discourse suggests that women internalise and reinforce such views; nonetheless, these perceptions have in turn inhibited and prohibited women from describing fully their experiences. A Pakistani woman participant explained during an interview that when she sought support from her mother-in-law following her husband’s violence, she was told:

“He is your husband, my husband used to hit me and was abusive therefore I too should just accept it – this was normal.”

Another Pakistani woman put it this way during her interview;

“My husband treated me badly and I just used to tolerate it because I used to think when I got married, I believed…if you spend a life with someone you have to make some sacrifices.”

It was only after she left the marriage and sought legal help that she described the violence she had tolerated, including the attacks on her during her pregnancy.

The behaviour of service providers in the UK has also been identified by participants as a key factor in propounding ‘culturalist’ explanations. A refuge worker described during her interview how the police had often referred Pakistani women’s cases on to particular Pakistani communities, thus by-passing other services in the belief that it was inherent within their culture to attend to ‘their’ women’s needs, without considering whether such action was appropriate or indeed dangerous. In their unwillingness to intervene, whether due to complacency, or to a desire to avoid being regarded as culturally insensitive, service providers can unwittingly reinforce cultural perceptions of Pakistani women by making assumptions about their needs and not responding to them as individual service users.

Interestingly, it was during an interview with a Pakistani woman participant that the difficulties associated with such ‘culturalist’ explanations of domestic violence became apparent. ‘Patriarchal’ concepts emerged, prompting a rather different discourse to inform our understanding of Pakistani women’s experiences. When this woman’s husband was questioned by a male relative about why he was beating her, the husband explained:

“…you have no idea how to control a woman…;”.

During the interview the woman went on to explain:

“…he said if he did not control me I would go off with other men and this was a way to control me.”

The husband justified his violent behaviour on the basis of needing to ‘control’ his wife, and by extension, needing to protect his honour. Similarly, in the following extract, which identifies three male relatives as perpetrators of violence to a Pakistani woman and her mother, the woman conveys the dominance they exerted over her mother’s destiny:

“My father was very violent and whenever I intervened to stop him from hitting my mother he used to hit me too. My grandfather encouraged my father to hit my mother. On one occasion my father took out a gun but my uncle said don’t kill them so easily – give them a slow and gradual death.”

The examples demonstrate that culture alone is not enough to explain the violence that the Pakistani women in this study had experienced

8.3 Defining violence: denial and shame

The gendered way in which Pakistani women’s lives have been shaped, and the interplay of sociocultural norms referred to above, have clearly contributed to the ambivalence and the shame-induced secrecy which underpinned women’s descriptions of their experiences. Two recurring concerns emerged from our interviews. First, many Pakistani women do not recognise some of the behaviour, aggression and ill-treatment they have been subjected to as violence, or alternatively, they seek to deny or reject it. This is illustrated in the following extract from an interview with a woman participant:

“My father-in-law…he used to swear at me…never anything else…My husband had never hit me but he had thrown a chair at me…”

The woman did not necessarily perceive swearing as violent or abusive and tended to minimise her experiences of violence.

Second, a key feature underpinning a Pakistani woman’s denial or shame is her struggle to balance the need to maintain her own dignity against the perceived humiliation and disgrace of exposing ‘private’ family matters to agencies which can be hostile or uncomprehending. The difficulty of balancing such issues, whilst experiencing violence or abuse, put enormous pressure of the women. Participants often described how they developed thoughts of self-harm and suicide. One woman explained how she tolerated the violence whilst she ‘thought about death all the time”, she imagined killing herself by drinking bleach or setting herself on fire, acts which she was aware would further induce dishonour and disgrace for herself and her family.

The way in which the woman understands her experience is key within asylum cases, as the preparation of statements and the process of gathering evidence relies on the collation of information from women, as well as from external sources. Legal practitioners in particular raised concerns about the inability of their women clients to recognise ‘ordinary’ forms of abuse such as ‘being ‘pushed’ or ‘slapped around’ as violence, which is exemplified in the women’s own descriptions in the interview extracts above. One participant, a barrister who specialises in asylum law highlighted this issue from a legal perspective:

“Asian women lack an understanding of what constitutes domestic violence from a victims point of view”

During our interviews with Pakistani women, many cited the poor performance of day-to-day domestic tasks as provocations for violence from spouses, yet at the same time they were reluctant to identify such reactions as forms of domestic violence. Instead, they indicated that their silence and obedience denoted the preservation of ‘honour’.

Most participants however expressed the conviction that the women’s silence was attributable to the shame and dishonour they experienced for behaving as ‘bad wives’. At times the only way in which they could make sense of their experience of violence was to see themselves at fault within the relationship, and they would often redouble their efforts to be a ‘good’ wife by keeping issues of violence or abuse within the family. They noted that when women did discuss forms of violence and abuse, whether ‘ordinary’ or extreme in nature, often they ‘normalised’ certain forms of ill-treatment as integral to married life, for example, marital rape, which was regarded as something that simply happened to women as a matter of course.

The fact that many Pakistani women apparently fail to recognise particular types of violent behaviour as ‘violence’ or, indeed, deny such descriptions, was reported as presenting many participants with dilemmas and challenges in how to proceed with cases (or investigations). They described, for example, their inability to gather evidence, or to ask for information which might then enable them to identify suitable care. A worker at a refugee community organisation explained the difficulty she experienced when trying to advise a woman about her legal options:

“Trying to explain to her that one of her options was to claim asylum was difficult because it’s not my job to put words in her mouth and it was difficult to find out if she felt safe to return. Even talking about it she got very upset because it was the first time she’d thought about return I think and what the difficulties might be…Having to tell her that the only way she could claim asylum was to go to Croydon or Liverpool when it was the first day she’d been out of the house and the control of the family and I was saying she had to get a train on her own to Liverpool, and then a taxi, and then talk to immigration officials, the poor girl was terrified.”

In this example, the woman was arguably too distressed to comprehend the implications of her circumstances, a point which in itself demands careful consideration. The example raises highlights many issues in the collection of evidence for case work. As many participants pointed out at different stages of being interviewed, cultural awareness training, is an essential tool to avoid critical errors in gathering information and enabling appropriate intervention. Significantly, service providers’ misplaced fears of being perceived as racist, or gender-specific cultural norms about acceptable behaviour, could work to close down women’s access to services.

8.4 Factors which influence Pakistani women’s decisions to flee

“It is very hard for women who leave their husbands, because they will hunt them down wherever they are. Because of that the woman doesn’t leave because he is beating her, she leaves because he is killing her.”

It is apparent from this quote (provided by a small Muslim women’s organisation with a geographical remit across the whole of Wales) that choices and options for this group of women appear to be extremely limited and are only exercised in the most extreme circumstances. There was widespread agreement among participants that most Pakistani women do not have even a basic awareness of the option to leave the family home in the event of domestic violence, let alone to flee outside of their geographical area. The participants believed that women’s lack of knowledge of other options meant that most Pakistani women simply did not confront domestic violence. In some regions, for example in the Sindh region, the notion of women leaving male and familial control was understood to be particularly sensitive (see also Chapter four). Moreover, the dominant role of families, and in particular their inter-connectedness, was described as a feature of Pakistani life by a law centre adviser:

“In Pakistan the family is the basic unit, you have to be part of it and so there is greater pressure on women to put up with things. Families are also really inter-connected and the pressure is to keep quiet and keep information to themselves, its not surprising that they don’t report incidents.”

This reflects the limitations on women’s autonomy to access even basic information about self-protection, compounded by high levels of poor education and illiteracy among women. However it also provides insight into the deeply embedded ‘culture’ of male and familial domination over Pakistani women, a characteristic not exclusive to poorer uneducated women.

Participants generally agreed that from the point of view of the family from which a woman has fled, her reputation and honour will forever be tarnished. Yet whilst the honour of the family may be severely damaged, the harm is not irreparable and could be reinstated with action against the woman. As a result, should she ever return, or should they succeed in bringing her back, the perpetrators would become her interrogators and prosecutors in their quest to retrieve family honour. A solicitor based in the Midlands succinctly described these methods of administering justice:

“Women are expected to live and die in the same household after they get married and not leave, if they leave they will not be accepted back into the family, they can be shunned by their own families and friends and not accepted in society. The families often feel forced to redeem their honour by killing them or forcing them into marriage with another man. It’s a very tribal attitude that sees the women as a chattel and if she misbehaves you have to punish her and by doing that you prove you are honourable and you value your honour. In Pakistan honour is more than your life, people take it very seriously, recognition of that is very important.”

Despite these issues some women do leave violent relationships, unfortunately the practitioners who participated in the research felt that the Home Office was likely to treat the situation with suspicion and disbelief. They believed this was not only because fleeing is held to be contrary to the ‘cultural’ norm, as described above, but also because of the ‘culture of disbelief’ which many participants believed continued to dominate Home Office practice.

8.5 Inter-connected communities, state agents and surveillance in Pakistan

The way in which information is shared between families, between communities, across regions and countries was still, in the view of many participants, little understood and underestimated by the immigration authorities in the UK. The nature of inter-familial relationships alone prevents many women from seeking help, as one participant, an adviser in a law centre explained:

“Families are also really inter-connected and the pressure is to keep quiet and keep information to themselves, its not surprising that they don’t report incidents.”

This extract from an interview with a local authority support worker illustrates the difficulty of escaping these connections, and highlights how misconceptions about the nature of these can result in an inappropriate removal and return:

“She kept saying she wasn’t safe there, that they had connections and would get her if she went back and she is back there now, going from one place to another, as far as I know, just to keep alive. Her sister keeps in touch with me and she says that she is very frightened and is not safe, but this wasn’t taken into account by the court. She was staying with her parents but they were getting threatened so she had to move and stay with another relative but that’s not a solution because it’s only a matter of time before they find her there, and they will hurt her or kill her.”

Many participants highlighted the strength and influence of male personal connections, of the passage of information by word of mouth and the active community links both across regions and trans-nationally. Men were described as ‘adept networkers’, even as ‘low-level operators’, quickly able to link in with a range of information sources. Families used travelling businessmen, Islamic groups (who themselves possess considerable authority and influence over communities) and corrupt elements within the police, the army and judiciary. As a result, participants found it understandable that women did not, as a rule, independently approach the police in Pakistan on domestic violence issues. A solicitor explained:

“Women find it difficult to go to the police in Pakistan, they are going in to a station to report a rape and they may well be raped by the police officer.”

Moreover, participants emphasised that men who have money are able to gain ready access to this informal tracking system which is enhanced by corrupt police and judicial staff. In the words of one service provider:

“…If you have money in Pakistan anywhere it is no problem to hire men, big men, who will do the work for you… Money talks in Pakistan; money has a power to make people speak.”

Whilst much of the above commentary reinforces previous discussion on women’s subjugation, it becomes evident that, when women are considering practical measures to reach safety, these interconnections can significantly impact on their ability to make decisions about leaving.

8.6 Inter-connectedness of Pakistani communities in the UK

“There are lots of connections and people may well find out where women are, even in this country.”This quote, taken from an interview with a legal adviser, amplifies the issues raised in the preceding section. Many participants spoke of the difficulties of ‘hiding’ in the UK, suggesting that for some women the UK is not necessarily ‘safe’. The asylum process, particularly the dispersal system, draws attention to asylum seekers arriving in established local communities and a woman claiming asylum will also be subject to such attention.

The unofficial role of Pakistani men in monitoring and regulating Pakistani communities enhances the dangers for Pakistani women asylum seekers, and particularly heightens their visibility as ‘lone’ or ‘unaccompanied’ women. Participants described how this led to additional difficulties when disseminating information to address domestic violence within Pakistani communities. The director of a national refugee community organisation described the barriers they had encountered:

“We’ve always found that when we are trying to get information into those communities that they run women’s groups but that the groups are often controlled by men and they aren’t going to allow you to talk to the women if you are talking about domestic violence. That’s an issue, it’s really hard to get into communities.”

These mechanisms of control have had direct consequences for workers. Some support services are either run by, or employ women of, Pakistani origin to work specifically with Pakistani women on domestic violence issues. One such worker graphically described the hostility she herself has been subjected to, and how eggs and tomatoes had been thrown at her window by members of the local community to express their disapproval of her work. This can present locally based, culturally specific, services with many dilemmas, notably, whether they can continue to offer direct and open support or whether ‘covert’ methods of reaching women should be developed. Either way, community-led hostilities which seek to undermine services for women, and issues of personal safety for workers within those services, have policy implications for all agencies involved in addressing domestic violence.

There was an alternative, more positive role, which participants raised as being played by some communities. In some cases, neighbours or acquaintances (Pakistani or not) were instrumental in encouraging and supporting women to access information and to contact services, thus demonstrating the value of publicising and promoting informal community links. For example, during interviews with Pakistani women, they described how, as spouses in the UK who had fled violent marriages, they sought and received help from ‘friends’, from supportive ‘relatives’ and even a ‘worker in a local clothes shop on the high street’.

8.7 Lone women: living, travelling and working

Participants endorsed the prevailing view that Pakistani communities viewed a woman living or travelling alone in Pakistan with suspicion. A woman living independently would have a range of negative assumptions made about her based on her behaviour and lifestyle. In turn, being thought of ‘badly’ by wider society effectively legitimates harassment of her. Certainly her ‘loneness’ in itself exposes her to conjecture, as expressed by one legal practitioner in the voluntary sector:

“Just being single itself signals so many things to a community. If you don’t have male relatives around you it signals to them that you got yourself into trouble or there’s something going on.”

Many participants queried whether the UK authorities grasped how unacceptable it is amongst members of the Pakistani community (both in Pakistan and for many in the Pakistani diaspora) for women to live alone, particularly without male support. A law centre adviser explained that:

“The concept of a single woman living on her own is very alien over there, you’d have to live with family really, particularly for young women, living on their own, it doesn’t happen there, it’s just not acceptable.”

A Pakistani woman participant described her own experiences of surveillance:

“Richer women are often associated with immorality generally and there would be resentments and their movements would be very closely watched. There’s such scrutiny of women who are living on their own, as a woman living alone there I was monitored.”

Another woman participant highlighted this form of legitimised harassment:

“If a woman does live on her own people will consider her to be a bad woman and she will have men following her about who think they can do anything with her – there is no protection for women.”

Participants expressed similar concerns about the treatment of women in Pakistan who work, and the frequency with which women in all forms of employment experienced sexual harassment. Another woman participant spoke of her experiences in employment:

“…when I worked in the pharmaceutical industry men would look at me like I was a loose woman.”

The extent of surveillance of women and societal intolerance of their attempts to lead independent lives is indicated in these examples and appears to be indiscriminate, irrespective of their circumstances.

8.8 Women and class

“The distinction between middle class and poor women is a real red herring.”

This view, expressed by the director of an international NGO, typifies the views of many participants who spoke of the Home Office’s ongoing misconceptions concerning the ability of women perceived to be privileged, by virtue of education or family wealth, to leave violent circumstances. They described how Home Office case workers often refused claims on the grounds that Pakistani women from affluent or well-educated backgrounds were either less likely to be subjected to violence or, conversely, were capable of independently taking action against it. They discussed how this claim usually leads the Home Office and immigration judges on appeal to attack the woman’s credibility. Many participants across all sectors echoed a counter-view that women from wealthy backgrounds often face particular risks which are directly connected to their affluence. For example, they are more likely to be quickly traced because of the greater resources available to those who seek them.

However, after much consideration of this question, the widespread response was that the situation of a Pakistani woman in relation to safety and/or pursuit bears no direct relationship to her class. In the words of a solicitor who specialises in asylum law:

“If she’s an illiterate village girl, the idea that she could go to Lahore or Karachi and rent a place and get a job is just inconceivable.”,

The solicitor implies that class or economic hardship is a factor in the issue of relocation, yet another participant, a women’s support worker, herself of Pakistani origin states that:

“I have a very good family, very liberal, but I cannot work (in Pakistan) like this. In this country I can have meetings with the police or sort out a woman’s problems with another worker. In Pakistan, if I am sitting for hours and hours with a man in a room there would be talk… they think you are crazy because you have no one to control you, no man, so what sort of woman must you be?”

There was significant discussion on the Home Office’s misplaced assumptions concerning the motives of women from poorer backgrounds, which was clearly very wearying for some legal practitioners:

“…if they say they are poor and from a village they just assume they are economic migrants and women’s cases are not getting fully investigated.”

The overwhelming consensus among participants was that these misconceptions are framed by generalised notions or stereotypes to judge the credibility or legitimacy of a case and the ‘culture of disbelief’ which permeate decision making at the Home Office.

8.9 Non-Muslim Pakistani women

Few participants had direct casework experience of supporting non-Muslim Pakistani women. Some had developed a general awareness of the additional barriers faced in Pakistan by non-Muslim women when attempting to reach safety or access support. A number had direct experience of working with, for example, Ahmadiye women, or Pakistani women of the Christian faith. They described the further ill-treatment suffered by these women due to their non-Muslim identity, and the way this identity is exposed by the explicit demand of official ‘systems’ and bureaucratic functions in Pakistan for information about a person’s faith before access to any form of support can be allowed.

As discussed in later chapters, and in numerous country reports already in the public domain, non-Muslims have been subjected to considerable ill-treatment in Pakistan. The following quote, from an interview with a housing support worker in Wales who had worked with an Ahmadiye woman, describes how the ‘double persecution’ these women face places them in an extremely vulnerable position:

“I mean there were only certain areas she could go to in Pakistan because of her religion, then she’d be a single woman with three children in the Ahmadiye community and questions would be asked about where her husband was. She was stuck really, because if she went to a place in Pakistan where she could practice her faith they’d find out everything.”

It can be inferred from this that the woman did not even have the option of living amongst non-Ahmadiye Pakistanis, an inference which is supported by current documentation, including Home Office country reports on the ill-treatment of non-Muslims in Pakistan.

8.10 Perceptions of the legal situation in Pakistan for women

There was general consensus amongst participants navigation of the Pakistani legal system is unduly complex, and that the system is applied unevenly and is particularly unjust in its application to women. Whilst discussion on the legal system and the judiciary was ultimately limited to general comments, the overall response indicated that the authorities in the UK did not attach sufficient weight to the relationship between the law, its uneven and discriminatory practice and the dominating influence of customary practices in Pakistan. A legal practitioner based in a law centre explained:

“In the tribal areas there is customary law as well, which is the law that they are governed by...they won’t accept civil law in areas such as the North West (Frontier Province); if you are a woman there you won’t be protected by civil law.”

Another law centre legal practitioner summarised the situation as follows:

“The courts and the police tend to think ‘well it’s bad, but it’s not that bad’. They don’t seem to realise that there are anti-women laws and that they are enacted; in effect the state is malevolent.”

Whilst this issue is examined in detail in Chapters four to seven, it is important to note the commonality of the perceptions expressed by the different participants with respect to the situation in Pakistan.

8.11 Internal relocation

Discussion on internal relocation provided valuable insight on the range of perspectives across all sectors, with one underpinning feature: the extent of the commonality of these perspectives.

All participants (apart from the Home Office) stated that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for a lone woman, with or without minor children, to live safely and independently in Pakistan. Whilst the situation of the woman might vary from case to case, the experience of legal practitioners handling the relevant evidence supported these doubts about the viability of internal relocation. Apart from the difficulty of obtaining work and accommodation in her attempts to settle into a new community, participants concluded that a lone woman would be regarded with considerable suspicion. The dangers associated with the inter-connectedness of communities, and the complicity of the police in the way in which they service individuals within communities, have been highlighted above and heighten the ensuing dangers of internal relocation.

Equally, Pakistani regulations require that all citizens carry an identity card, a rule which was identified as posing particular obstacles for women trying to relocate within Pakistan. A legal practitioner explained:

“You see when they arrive back in the country they have to get an identity card and then in order to access any government institutions you have to show that ID card and it has your husband’s or father’s name on it.”

Furthermore, in a context where information can be readily bought by bribe or influence, participants stated that the identity card system might compromise women’s safety and even prevent them from accessing the limited services available. The practical barriers to internal relocation are summarised by the Director of an international NGO:

“…You have to get someone to guarantee the accommodation and there is little or no accommodation, particularly in Lahore and the smaller cities. Number one there’s no rental accommodation, number two landlords are terrified of sitting tenants, number three people are terrified of anything which might be seen as ‘inappropriate’ and there’s an assumption that a woman on her own is somehow scandalous. If a woman comes and says I want to rent your place, it’s going to be lots of questions like ‘why are you here, who do you know, what is your job?’ and if you haven’t got someone who can give a guarantee you will not get accommodation..”

These barriers do not distinguish between wealthy and poor women who were ‘on the run’. Both groups were identified as being vulnerable to arrest, ill-treatment, abduction and murder, and whilst affluent women are considered to be more ‘visible’ and therefore more likely to be pursued, poorer women are vulnerable to trafficking and exploitation by the sex industry and the illegal drugs trade. The director of the international NGO put it in the following terms:

“If you are upper class you cannot go and live just anywhere, you stick out like a sore thumb and it would be socially unacceptable. Automatically there would be questions asked, they would recognise what she was from her surname, her behaviour and would ask questions about why there were not ‘protectors’ and why she was alone and the conclusion would be that she was ‘bad’. That assumption has no class differentiation and is applied to all women. For the women of the elite internal flight can be even more difficult, they are more visible and the husband will have more power, resources and connections. If her family aren’t backing her then she is done for, he can just go to the police and tell them to let him know when she turns up. With a woman from a lower class it will very much depend on her husband’s contacts.”

Participants portrayed the ongoing struggle with the Home Office and the immigration judiciary on internal flight as a significant battle. Even when a woman’s account of violence is believed, and even when her evidence on internal flight is compelling, many legal practitioners stated that the decision-making authorities put up considerable resistance to accepting the evidence. Participants concluded that they are unwilling, rather than unable, to recognise the potential harm that will arise if women are required to relocate internally.

Participants reported that the courts appear willing to consider the problems posed by internal flight where children are involved. While this presents tactical opportunities for legal practitioners, a shift of emphasis towards cases involving women with children would seriously compromise the entitlement to protection of Pakistani women as a whole.

The following chapter examines how participants expressed the intersection between these representational issues and the provision of services to women as asylum seekers and as immigrant spouses.

Saiqa’s case

Saiqa was from a very poor background and had five brothers and three sisters.

She was married to her second cousin. Saiqa cannot remember how old she was when she was married, but thinks she has been married for approximately seven to eight years.

Saiqa’s husband was a manual worker. He was a very possessive and insecure man and believed that she was having affairs behind his back. He used to keep Saiqa locked up in the house and failed to provide for her and the children. He would beat her regularly, and also tortured her by making her undress and electrocuting her with a wire. On one occasion Saiqa’s husband poured kerosene over her legs and set her alight and then proceeded to beat her.

Saiqa went to the Police to register a FIR against her husband. The Police were so shocked to see the condition that she was in that they referred her to a hospital, where she stayed for three-four days. During her stay in hospital her husband visited her and threatened to kill her unless she withdrew her complaint.

On the 4th day of Saiqa’s stay at hospital her husband came and took her away. The Police were unable to trace her husband. It was during this time that the husband persuaded Saiqa to withdraw her complaint. She appeared in Court and told the judge she had forgiven her husband and was returning home.

After returning home her husband continued to physically abuse her. On one occasion Saiqa’s husband had beaten her up so badly that when she woke up, her clothes were full of blood, and her mouth and nose were bleeding. Before going out to work he threatened her by telling her to ‘sort herself out’ or he would kill her.

After having lunch, Saiqa’s children asked her to run away before their father killed her. Saiqa went to the hospital and reported the incident to the Police and registered a FIR against her husband. Her case was widely publicised by the media because of the serious injuries she had sustained.

Human rights activists got involved in her case and made arrangements for her stay at a shelter.