‘Something has been taken away’: Pakistan’s secret circumcision mystery fgm

Seven-year-old Mary was excited. Her mother had dressed her in her favorite powder pink frock, tied her hair into two pigtails with butterfly clips, and told her she would be going to a surprise birthday party for her cousin.

Instead, her aunt led Mary by the hand to a dilapidated building with peeling walls and a cold metal table waiting inside.

There, a curly-haired old woman murmured soft assurances that Mary did not understand, grabbed her, and restrained her to the table. Then the pain began – it was intense, excruciating, unforgettable. The next 20 minutes will divide her life into “before” and “after” – and shatter her trust in the person she trusted most: her mother.

Two decades later, a 27-year-old survivor of female genital mutilation (FGM) still bears the scars of that day on her face. “I feel like there is something missing inside me. It’s as if something was taken away, and it became a negative part of my body.”

“It is an emotional lack. “You’re not able to describe your feelings when talking about sexual needs,” she says. She adds, “When looking for a partner,[your]emotional and sexual response There is a shortage”.

Maryam belongs to Pakistan’s Dawoodi Bohra community, a sect of Shia Muslims mostly from the Gujarat region, among whom circumcision is a common practice. Estimates suggest that 75 percent to 85 percent of Dawoodi Bohra women in Pakistan undergo FGM either by older women in private residences – without anesthesia and with unsterilized instruments – or by medical professionals in urban centers such as Karachi. The Dawoodi Bohra population in Pakistan is estimated at 100,000.

Yet, many Pakistanis are unaware that this practice is common in their country. Even as FGM in parts of Africa is making global headlines, a culture of silence in Pakistan means the practice continues on a large scale, unchecked by public scrutiny or legal intervention.

A shroud of secrecy hides the ritual, and Pakistan has no comprehensive national data on how widespread FGM is. Girls are circumcised at an age when it is difficult for them to handle it themselves. And the Dawoodi Bohra community does not even refer to the removal of the clitoral hood as mutilation – they call it circumcision, a ritual that must be passed – not questioned.

Women who choose to speak out against the practice are sometimes threatened with ostracism from the community. “When you question an official, you are shown the door,” says Maryam.

“Where will you go? You were born here.”

opposition to a standing practice

“Your parents want what’s best for you.” It’s a belief that children hold tightly to – until it is broken. As happened with Alia.

The 26-year-old remembers fragments of a procedure so painful that for years, it seemed like a nightmare, too brutal to be real.

But the truth has been visible: the cold, unyielding tables, the whispered promises that it was “necessary”, the acrimony, physical and emotional, the sting. “It felt like a nightmare, like it couldn’t happen,” she says, her voice wavering from the shock of a trauma she didn’t understand at the time.

Fear was the emotion he felt while lying on the metal table. Later he felt unbearable pain as well as betrayal. “It blows my mind that there is an entire generation of people who are willing to do this to a child without even knowing why,” says Alia.

Globally, the campaign to end FGM has gained momentum in recent years. Earlier this year, Gambia’s parliament rejected a controversial bill to repeal the 2015 ban on FGM.

But the Dawoodi Bohra community is still adamant on this practice. In April 2016, Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin, the current global leader of the Bohras, reaffirmed the need for female circumcision or circumcision in his sermon at Mumbai’s Saifi Mosque, despite growing opposition within the community and from around the world.

Saifuddin said, “It must be done… If it is a woman, it must be discreet.” He stressed that it is beneficial for both body and soul.

However, doctors say FGM can cause reproductive complications in women.

“Young girls may have boils, urinary complaints; They may face many issues in their marital life as sexual health is greatly affected, they may also suffer from dyspareunia,” says Asifa Malhan, consultant gynecologist and assistant professor at Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Center in Karachi. Dyspareunia is persistent or recurring genital pain that occurs just before, during, or after sex.

“As a health professional and gynecologist, I do not advise anyone that this should be done. This is very harmful.”

Critics of this practice say that the real reason for circumcising girls is not health.

The clitoris, the area where a woman receives the most sexual pleasure, is referred to as haram ki boti (a sinful piece of flesh) by many in the community. “When our clitoris is called a haram herb, it becomes clear that this practice is not done for the purpose of hygiene or cleanliness,” says Alia. “This is done to oppress a woman’s sexuality.”

The clitoris has the most nerve endings of any part of the human body and is the most sensitive part of the female body. When it is deformed, nerve endings are cut off, causing loss of sensation.

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

Even from a medical point of view, FGM is dangerous. Without the clitoris, the chances of injury during intercourse are higher, says Yasir.

breaking cultural barriers

According to the Pakistan Demographic and Health Survey 2017–18, 28 percent of the country’s women aged 15–49 have experienced physical violence, and 6 percent have faced sexual violence. Additionally, 34 percent of women who have ever been married have experienced physical, sexual, or emotional violence from their spouses.

In a country with widespread gender-based violence, the practice of FGM increases the struggle for female victims.

“This is an extremely serious form of gender violence, the effects of which may not be felt immediately, but are felt over a long period of time,” says Alia.

There is no specific law criminalizing this practice in Pakistan. Although under the Pakistan Penal Code, broad provisions such as sections 328A (cruelty to children), 333 (dismemberment or mutilation) and 337F (dissection of flesh) can theoretically be invoked, no such prosecution has taken place to date. Has not been entered.

Domestic violence and child protection laws in the provinces broadly cover physical harm but do not mention FGM. In the 2006 National Action Plan, the government acknowledged the issue, but took no action to eliminate it.

According to a 2017 survey by Sahiyo, a non-profit based in Mumbai, India working to end FGM in South Asian communities, 80 percent of respondents had been subjected to FGM. The survey focused on women from the Dawoodi Bohra community. SAHIO is an international organization whose operations and campaigns extend 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 end the practice. They can provide counseling to the patient, but the matter does not stop there. They say what is needed is to explain to the community the many harms of the practice medically – and the fact that there are no scientifically proven benefits.

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

Yasir explains that this outreach needs to be done sensitively with respect for the cultural traditions of the community.

Huda Syed, who published research in the Journal of International Women’s Studies by Bridgewater State University in 2022 on the lack of data and dialogue on FGM in Pakistan, said the practice is oftentimes linked to a girl’s identity within the community. Its religious and spiritual significance is seen among the Dawoodi Bohras. This is usually passed down as an intergenerational tradition.

“While conducting my research, my approach was compassionate, relevant and community-centered because at times communities are ostracized, persecuted and punished in different ways for customs and practices that are social norms, and sometimes Sometimes they are even insulted and portrayed negatively. ,” says Syed.

“Change is not possible by attacking communities and abandoning them because then we risk driving the practice or practice of FGM underground; We really need to focus on involving the community, working with them and driving change from within.

Syed says that the solution will have to emerge from dialogue with the community and imposing ideas from outside will not work.

“There are two sides when talking about this practice: some people who are ready to have conversations and engagement about it but in a safe way where their community is not attacked because no community wants to be villainized. , and then there are others who want to maintain their community and customs,” says Syed.

Al Jazeera contacted community leaders for their views but did not receive a response.

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

But should the community be responsive, for survivors like Mariam, the time for silence is over.

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

*The names of the survivors have been changed to protect their identities.