“Something has been taken”: The secret of female genital mutilation in Pakistan | Female circumcision

Seven-year-old Maryam was excited. Her mother dressed her in her favorite light pink dress, put her hair in two braids secured with butterfly clips, and told her she was going to her cousin’s surprise birthday party.

Instead, her aunt took Maryam, holding her hands, to a dilapidated building with layers of peeling walls and a cold metal table waiting inside.

There, a curly-haired old lady quietly murmured assurances that Mary did not understand, and she took hold of her and pinned her to the table. Then the pain started – it was sharp, burning, and unforgettable. The next twenty minutes will divide her life into “before” and “after” – and shatter her trust in the person she believes in most: her mother.

Two decades later, the 27-year-old FGM survivor still bears the scars of that day. “I feel like there’s something missing inside me. It’s like something has been taken away, and it’s turned into a negative part of my body.

“It’s an emotional deficiency. You’re unable to describe your feelings when you talk about sexual needs,” she says. “When you’re looking for a partner, you have a deficiency in your emotional and sexual response.”

Maryam belongs to Pakistan’s Dawoodi Bohra sect, a sect of Shiite Muslims mostly from the Gujarat region, among whom female genital mutilation is a common practice. It is estimated that between 75% and 85% of Dawoodi Bohra women in Pakistan undergo FGM either in private residences by older women – without any anesthesia and with non-sterile instruments – or by medical professionals in urban centers such as Karachi. . The population of Dawoodi Bohra in Pakistan is estimated at 100,000 people.

However, many Pakistanis are still unaware that this practice is common in their country. Although female genital mutilation in parts of Africa makes international headlines, Pakistan’s culture of silence means that the practice largely continues, unchecked by public scrutiny or legal intervention.

A shroud of secrecy protects these rituals, and Pakistan does not have comprehensive national data on the prevalence of FGM. Girls are exposed to FGM at an age where it is difficult for them to treat it themselves. The Dawoodi Bohra community does not even refer to the removal of the clitoral hood as mutilation – they call it circumcision, a rite of passage to go through – which should not be questioned.

Women who choose to speak out against this practice are sometimes threatened with excommunication from society. “When you question an authority, they show you the way out,” Maryam says.

“Where are you going? I was born here.”

Resistance to permanent exercise

“Your parents want what’s best for you.” It’s a belief that kids hold on to tightly – until it breaks. As happened to Aaliyah.

The 26-year-old recalls parts of a process so painful that for years it seemed like a bad dream, too cruel to be true.

But the truth remained in flashes: the cold, harsh table, the whispered promises that this was “necessary,” the sharp physical and emotional sting. “It seemed like a bad dream, like it couldn’t happen,” she says, her voice trembling with the shock of shock she didn’t understand at the time.

Fear was the feeling I felt while lying on the metal table. Betrayal is what I felt next, along with excruciating pain. “What amazes me is that there is a whole generation of people willing to do this to a child without knowing why,” Alia says.

Globally, efforts to end female genital mutilation have gained momentum in recent years. Earlier this year, the Gambian Parliament rejected a controversial bill to repeal the 2015 ban on female genital mutilation.

But the Dawoodi Bohra community has stuck to this practice so far. In April 2016, Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin, the current global leader of the Bohras, emphasized the need for female circumcision, or khatna, in his sermon at Saifee Mosque in Mumbai, despite growing opposition from within the community and around the world.

“It must be done… if it is a woman, it must be secret,” Saif Al-Din said, stressing that it is good for the body and soul.

But doctors say FGM can lead to reproductive complications in women.

“Young girls can have abscesses or urinary tract complaints; “They can face many problems in their married life, as sexual health is affected a lot, and they can develop dyspareunia as well,” says Asifa Malhan, consultant gynecologist and assistant professor at Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Center in Karachi. Dyspareunia is persistent or recurring pain in the genitals that occurs before, during, or after sex.

“As a health professional and gynecologist, I would not advise anyone to do this. It is very harmful.”

The real reason girls are subjected to FGM is not health, critics of the practice say.

The clitoris, the area where a woman derives the most sexual pleasure, is referred to as haram ki buti (sinful piece of meat) by many in the community. “When our clitoris is called ‘haram ki buti’, it becomes very clear that this practice is not done for hygienic or hygienic purposes,” says Aaliya. “This is done to suppress women’s sexuality.”

The clitoris contains the largest number of nerve endings of any part of the human body and is the most sensitive part of the female body. When they are distorted, nerve endings are severed, resulting in loss of sensation.

“Girls who have had their clitoris removed cannot feel certain sexual pleasure,” says Sana Yasir, a Karachi-based life coach with a background in medical psychology.

Also from a medical standpoint, FGM is dangerous. Without the clitoris, injuries during intercourse are more likely, Yasser says.

Breaking down cultural barriers

According to the Pakistan Demographic and Health Survey 2017-2018, 28% of women in the country between the ages of 15 and 49 have experienced physical violence, and 6% have faced sexual violence. In addition, 34% of ever-married women experienced physical, sexual, or emotional violence by their husband.

In a country where gender-based violence is widespread, the practice of female genital mutilation exacerbates the struggle of female victims.

“It is a very serious form of violence against women, and its effects may not be felt immediately, but appear over a long period,” says Alia.

There is no specific law in Pakistan that criminalizes this practice. Although under the Pakistan Penal Code, broader provisions such as Sections 328A (cruelty to children), 333 (mutilation or dismemberment), and 337F (dismemberment of body) could theoretically apply, no such prosecution has been documented to date.

Provincial domestic violence and child protection laws generally cover bodily harm but do not mention female genital mutilation. In the 2006 National Action Plan, the government acknowledged this issue, but no action was taken to end it.

According to A 2017 survey by Sahyoa non-profit organization based in Mumbai, India, that works to end female genital mutilation in South Asian communities, 80 percent of participants had experienced female genital mutilation. The survey focused on women from the Dawoodi Bohra community. Sahiyo is a transnational organization with operations and campaigns extending to countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom and other regions where FGM is practiced.

Health care professionals say they face major challenges in trying to eradicate the practice. They can advise the patient, but it does not stop there. What we need, they say, is community outreach to explain the practice’s many drawbacks, both medically and the fact that there are no scientifically proven benefits.

“The government should collaborate with doctors and visit the community where the practice is being carried out,” Malhan says. “Without it, there will be no solution to this problem, and we will face similar challenges in the future.”

Yasser points out that this communication must be done sensitively, while respecting the cultural traditions of the community.

Hoda Syed, who published research in Bridgewater State University’s Journal of International Women’s Studies on the lack of data and dialogue around female genital mutilation in Pakistan in 2022, said that this practice is sometimes linked to a girl’s identity within society. It is viewed by the Dawoodi Bohras as having religious and spiritual importance. It is usually passed down as a practice between generations.

“While conducting my research, my approach was compassionate, contextual and community-focused because too often communities are ostracized, persecuted and punished in various ways due to customs and practices that represent social norms, and are sometimes distorted and painted in a negative light,” says Syed.

“Change is not possible by attacking and ostracizing communities because then we risk the practice or custom of female genital mutilation going underground; what we really need to focus on is including the community, working with them and creating change from within.

Syed says that solutions must come through dialogue with society, and imposing ideas from the outside will not work.

“There are two sides when talking about this practice: some people are open to dialogue and sharing about it but in a safe way where their community is not attacked because no community wants to become evil, and then there are others who want to preserve their community and their customs,” Syed says.

Al Jazeera reached out to community leaders to get their views but did not receive any response.

For Alia, how society itself responds to the concerns of women like her is crucial: “It’s important to promote the idea that I can belong to this community and still say no to female genital mutilation.”

But if society is responsive, for survivors like Maryam, the time for silence is over.

“This practice took something from me, and this ends with me taking it back,” she says.

*Names of survivors have been changed to protect their identities.