阿富汗妇女为何自焚.doc

阿富汗妇女为何自焚
Fawzia felt like she had no way out. Married off to her cousin at age 16, she had been beaten routinely by her husband and in-laws in their poor rural home in Paktia province for the first three years of her marriage. She complained bitterly to her parents, but no solution seemed imminent Marriage had become too much for her to bear. Then, after she saw her brother-in-law strike his wife on the head with a gun, Fawzia finally did what she had threatened to do many times before: she doused herself in cooking fuel and struck a match.
Now Fawzia (whose name has been changed because of her age) lies in a hospital bed with third-degree burns covering 35% of her body and ash coating the insides of her lungs. Her physician, Dr. Ahmed Shah Wazir, believes it's unlikely that she will survive. The terrifying thing is that she is far from the only person in Afghanistan to take such drastic action. The Ministry of Women's Affairs has documented a total of 103 women who set themselves on fire between March 2009 and March 2010. No one knows what the real numbers are, given the difficulty of collecting data in the country. "More than 80% [who try to kill themselves in this way] cannot be saved," says Wazir, who runs the burn unit at Kabul's Istiqlal Hospital, one of only two such specialized wards in Afghanistan.
Wazir believes that most of his would-be patients never make it to the hospital. In some cases, families are too ashamed or fearful of prosecution to report what happened. "There are many such cases where, because of honor, because of the media, [the families] don't want to disclose it," says Selay Ghaffar, director of the Kabul-based NGO Humanitarian Assistance for the Women and Children of Afghanistan (HAWCA). "I'm sure there are many, many cases that are still invisible." "I have seen a number of instances of women setting themselves on fire in my life," says Fawzia's mother, wiping away tears. She insists that there is nothing unusual about her daughter. "Four months ago, someone else from our village lit herself on fire and died."
In recent years, the dramatic suicide method employed by women in this war-torn country has drawn wide attention, amid speculation that the trend might be growing. Some, like Wazir, blame Iranian TV and cinema for romanticizing suicide by fire. (For example, in the 2002 movie Bemani, a girl uses self-immolation to escape a forced marriage.) He points out that many of his patients, including Fawzia, are refugees who have returned from Iran. Other observers argue that the practice has long existed as a method by which Afghan women try to escape their sorrows and that improved monitoring since the fall of the Taliban has only made it more prominent in public awareness. The Afghan government, however, says that in the past five years, the numbers have dropped.
Nevertheless, the act remains both common and poorly understood, with relatively few resources devoted to its prevention. "There are seven safe houses in Afghanistan that protect victims of [domestic] violence," says Ghaffar, whose organization runs one such institution, an advice hotline and several legal-aid centers. But she says most of the country — particularly in the volatile south and east — remains woefully devoid of any services. "There is not a single safe house, and no legal-aid center," says Ghaffar of these regions. "There are many cases that need protection."
The implication, then, for women like Fawzia — who pleaded with her parents to find a solution on multiple occasions — is that even when outside help is sought, there remains a high probability that none will be found. Part of the problem, women's groups say, is resistance by officials to searching Afghan society for the root of such a horrifying phenomenon. Even Fawzia's doctor finds nothing blameworthy in the Afghan way of life. "It is a very good culture. We support the women," says Wazir, dismissing the notion that family abuse and despondency could be the main factor driving patients to his burn center.
Indeed, even when domestic abuse is acknowledged, says Ghaffar, "Afghan society puts the blame on the woman — that she is not a good woman; that she is suffering at home because she is not behaving like a good mother or a good wife. And that's why the husband has the right to beat her." Ghaffar estimates that the majority of Afghan women experience some kind of domestic abuse and rarely report it. "For every one case we have, I'm sure we can multiply it by thousands."
In the bed next to Fawzia is 14-year-old Amina (whose name has also been changed). Her neck and torso look as if they have been turned inside out: the flesh is a raw, wet, oozing pink. She grimaces as she talks. "I was tired of life," she says, her voice flat. "I had to kill myself." Amina was only 11 when she was married. And unlike Fawzia, her tormentor was a woman — a senior wife of her brother-in-law. "Sometimes she would beat me and pull my hair out and prevent me from taking water from the pump," she says. Amina and her sister-in-law were apparently in competition over food and resources: the household was poor, made up of four nuclear families struggling in the same living space. But, like Wazir, Amina's nurse, Mahdiya Akbari, cites not abusive family conditions but a more commonly accepted explanation. "Most of these patients have emotional, psychological and economic problems," she says, standing over the girl's bed.
That mind-set is prevalent, and because of it, alternatives are limited. "To find a solution to their problem, people should first resort to relatives," says Wazir. "Here there is a tribal structure. If relatives don't solve the problem, they can go to the clergy. Or they can solve their problem with the elders of the tribe." If that fails, he adds, civil-society groups, courts and the police force should be utilized before resorting to something as drastic as self-immolation. At worst, "they should escape and flee the area. The solution is not to put oil on the body."
But governance in Afghanistan — particularly when it benefits women — is primarily theory and little practice. "Most of the time, the decisions of the tribal leaders are not beneficial to the women," says Sayeda Mojgan Mostafezi, Deputy Minister of Women's Affairs. This past spring, Mostafezi coordinated women's participation in Afghanistan's national assembly, or jirga, held in Kabul to discuss a national plan for reconciliation. Of the 1,600 delegates, she says, 315 were women — a proud showing of the country's progress.
But in real life, where emancipation isn't encouraged by the government and its Western patrons, progress is far from discernible. Marriage in Afghanistan is still "like a form of sale," Mostafezi admits. Women are often traded to resolve family disputes or strengthen family bonds. And the male-controlled tribal structures — when they enforce any kind of law at all — are unlikely to side with women in domestic-abuse cases. Says Mostafezi: "Ninety percent of their decisions work against women's rights."
And for the women who seek refuge, there is little the Women's Affairs Ministry can do. Nine years into the new government, the ministry has yet to push a protective family law past parliament. Because of her ministry's low budget, she says, all of the existing safe houses are run by NGOs. "The government also may not be ready to pay for this," she adds. Indeed, local officials are often perplexed when a woman actually comes forward to complain about the way she is being treated at home. In Kandahar, when one abused woman approached the police earlier this year, they were so conflicted about what to do that they put her in a detention center. "She stayed there for months because there was no other place to send her," says Ghaffar. When HAWCA learned of the case, the organization brought the woman to Kabul.
Ghaffar says what women need most urgently are not only laws and services to protect them but an awareness that they have a way out — through counseling, divorce, safe houses and other means. "When they think there is no other option, they burn themselves," she says.
Back at the Istiqlal Hospital burn unit, the windows are shut, and the thick, pungent air smells of disinfectant chemicals and burned flesh. Fawzia is barely conscious, and her eyes are swollen shut. "My daughter complained a lot to her father, saying that she had a bad life," says Fawzia's mother. "But no one listened to her. He told her just to be patient." The mother now worries that her husband could send Fawzia back to the in-laws if she survives. The young woman, after all, is their property, according to local custom. "My husband is always telling me not to complain, and he threatens to hit me," says Fawzia's mother, "because my daughter's father-in-law is my husband's brother." Fawzia's in-laws have not come to the hospital and were not available for comment. But Noor pledges to do everything in her power to keep Fawzia from going back. "If her life doesn't improve," she says, "she may try to burn herself again."

法丽雅无路可走。自从她16岁嫁给自己的堂兄，加入帕克提亚省这个贫穷的农民家庭，三年来她经常性地遭到丈夫及夫家亲戚们的毒打。她痛苦地对父母抱怨过，但收效甚微。婚姻成了法丽雅无力背负的重担，于是，在目睹小叔用枪痛击自己妻子的头部之后，她做出了之前恐吓过多次的事：用菜油淋遍全身，划着了火柴。
现在，三级烧伤的法丽雅躺在医院病床上，全身皮肤的35%被烧伤，肺里满是烟尘。艾哈迈德· 沙阿·维奇尔博士，她的主治医生，认为她活下去的机会甚微。令人脊背发凉的是，在阿富汗采取如此激烈抗议手段的远远不止法丽雅一人。阿富汗的妇女事务部公布的数字表明：2009年3月至2010年3月，共有103名妇女自焚。但是由于在阿富汗搜集数据极为不易，没有人知道确切的数字究竟是多少。维奇尔博士说：“80%以上的人（自焚者）都救不活。”他主管着喀布尔库特拉医院的烧伤科，也是全阿富汗仅有的两处烧伤科之一
维奇尔博士认为绝大多数的烧伤妇女根本就没有机会能来到医院。有时候，有些家庭出于羞耻心或者害怕被判刑而选择沉默。“有很多这样的例子，出事的家庭由于爱面子，或者怕媒体曝光，而不愿意说出真相，”塞拉伊·加法尔，阿富汗妇女儿童人道救助非政府组织的主席，说道：“我相信有很多很多的自焚事件没有被公诸于众。”法丽雅的妈妈边说边擦眼泪：“我这辈子见过不少女人自焚。”她坚称自己的女儿没有任何不正常的地方：“4个月前，我们村里就有个女人自焚，后来死掉了。”
近年来，在这个饱受战争之苦的国家，妇女们如此极端的自杀方式引起了广泛的关注，据估计，自焚之风可能正在蔓延。有些人，比如维奇尔博士，指责伊朗的电视节目和电影将自焚行为浪漫化（比如说，2002年的电影《Bemani》就讲述了一个女孩子用自焚来逃避强加于她的婚姻）。他指出，很多自焚病人，包括法丽雅，都是从伊朗回来的难民。其他人则认为，长期以来阿富汗妇女将自焚做为逃离痛苦生活的手段，而随着塔利班政府的垮台，加强了对妇女自焚现象的监控，从而使得更多的人知道了这一现象。然而，阿富汗政府声称在过去的五年里，自焚人数下降了。
然而，自焚行为在阿富汗依旧相当普遍且缺乏关注，基本上没有做过预防方面的工作。“阿富汗有7所安全之家，用来保护受到家庭暴力的妇女，”加法尔说，她所在的组织管理着其中一处安全之家，一条提供建议的热线电话，以及几处法律援助中心。但令人遗憾的是，阿富汗全国的大部分地区都找不到类似的妇女援助服务，在不稳定的南部和东部地区更是如此。“没有安全之家，也没有法律援助中心，”加法尔提到这些地区时表示：“但有很多需要提供保护的个案。”
这也就意味着，像法丽雅这样的妇女，即使请求自己父母的帮助，向外界发出了求救信号，也很大可能得不到任何帮助。妇女组织表示，问题的部分根源在于阿富汗官方拒绝在其社会体系中寻找造成这一可怕现象的原因。就连法丽雅的主治医生也认为阿富汗的生活方式没有需要指责的地方。“我们有很好的文化，也支持妇女，”维奇尔博士说，完全否认烧伤科的这些女人们是因为家庭虐待和失去希望才走上绝路的。
事实上，即使家庭虐待已经得到证实，加法尔说：“阿富汗社会将之归咎于妇女：她不是个好女人；她在家里受虐待是因为她不是个好妈妈或者好妻子。因此做丈夫的有权利打她。”据加法尔估计，绝大多数阿富汗妇女在家中都受到某种程度的家庭暴力，但基本上没有人举报。我相信我们手上每一单曝光的案子背后，都对应着几千个不为人知的案例。
14岁的阿美娜睡在法丽雅的邻床。她的脖子和身体看上去就好像里朝外翻了个儿：肌肉呈现出一种生肉般、湿漉漉的粉红色，不断渗出脓液。她说话时痛得面部都变形了。“我厌倦了生活，”她说道，声音平静，“我不得不自杀。”阿美娜结婚的时候只有11岁。和法丽雅不同的是，折磨阿美娜的人是个女人：她丈夫哥哥的大老婆。阿美娜说：“有时她打我，揪我的头发，不让我在水泵那里接水。”显然阿美娜和她的妯娌在争夺生活资源以及食物：家里很穷，四个小家庭挤在共同的生活空间里，争抢求生。但和维奇尔博士一样，阿美娜的护士马赫迪耶·阿克巴里也不认为家庭虐待是自焚的诱因。而认可另一个更为大众接受的解释：“大部分自焚病人都有情绪、心理、以及感情方面的问题，”站在阿美娜病床边的她这样说。
这样的思维定势相当普遍，也因此局限了可供选择的解决方法。“要解决她们的问题，应该先求助于自己的亲戚，”维奇尔博士说：“阿富汗有自己的家族体系。如果找亲戚没用，那么她们可以去找神父，或者和家族里的长辈们商量解决问题的方法。”他补充道，如果这些都没用，那么在采取自焚这样的极端做法之前，应该去社会团体、法庭、以及警察那里寻求帮助。最糟的情形，“她们也应该逃跑，离开老家。在自己身上淋油可不是解决问题的方法。”
但是，在阿富汗政府的统治模式中，对妇女有利的那部分常常是有得说，却没得做。阿富汗国家妇女事务部副部长萨耶达·摩根·莫坦菲兹说：“大多数情况下，家族领导们都不会做出对妇女有利的决定。”今年春天，在莫坦菲兹的协调下，妇女得以参加在喀布尔的议会讨论，探索一个全国性的解决方案。1600名与会代表中有315名妇女，她骄傲地表示这体现了阿富汗的进步。
但是在现实生活当中，阿富汗政府及西方赞助国家并不鼓励妇女解放，进步更是无从谈起。莫坦菲兹承认：阿富汗的婚姻“是一种买卖模式。”为了解决家族争执或者强化家族纽带，交换妇女是常用的手段。即便有法律可供执行，男性控制下的家族体系也不可能在家庭虐待案例中站在妇女的一方。莫坦菲兹表示：“90%的决定都谈不上什么妇女权利。”
对于那些寻求庇护的妇女，国家妇女事务部也无能为力。新政府成立九年以来，妇女事务部还未能促成国会颁布家庭保护法案。她还指出，因为妇女事务部的资金预算低，目前所有的安全之家都是非政府组织管理的。“国家还没有准备好出这份钱，”她补充说。确实，当妇女们来哭诉在家里被虐待的情形时，地方官员们也不知道如何是好。今年早些时候，坎大哈的一名受虐妇女找了警察，而警察不知道该怎么做，只好把她安置在拘留所。“她在拘留所呆了好几个月，因为没有其它地方可供选择，”加法尔说。HAWCA了解到这一情况后，将该名妇女接到了堪布尔。
加法尔指出，妇女最迫切需要的不仅仅是保护她们的法律及援助服务，而是可以意识到她们有路可走：无论是通过辅导、离婚、安全之家、或者其它方式。“在觉得没有其它选择的时候，她们选择自焚。”
回到库特拉医院的烧伤科，窗户关着，空气里弥漫着消毒剂和烧伤肉体混合在一起的刺鼻味道。法丽雅基本上已经没有知觉，肿肿的眼睛闭着。“女儿对父亲抱怨过很多次，”法丽雅的妈妈说：“但没人理她。他告诉女儿耐心些。”这位母亲现在担心的是，如果法丽雅得以幸存，自己的丈夫会把法丽雅送回夫家。毕竟，按照当地的风俗这名年轻妇女是他们家的财产。“我丈夫总是告诉我不要抱怨，而且他威胁说要打我，”法丽雅的妈妈说：“因为法丽雅的公公是我丈夫的兄弟。”法丽雅夫家的亲戚们没有来医院探望她，也拒绝就此事发表意见。但努尔发誓会尽全力阻止法丽雅回去夫家。“如果她的生活得不到改善，”她说：“她可能会再次自焚。”