Shana’s Story I
was born into a family where domestic abuse was prevalent on a day to day basis. South Asian communities were – and some still are – very patriarchal. Coercive control was programmed into us from a young age and physical violence and emotional abuse were normalised. I ran away from home twice at 11 and 13, yet was let down by services and returned home to the abuse. I became involved in gangs – the culture and mindset was where I felt I most belonged. Although each of my six siblings, and my mother experienced domestic abuse, not all of them took the same path. Why was that? I was forced into a marriage at the age of 17, because I was considered too ‘Westernised’. I was tricked into going to Bangladesh, and was abandoned there for over a year. When I returned to the UK, I plucked up the courage to leave my marriage. In the name of honour, my father tried to take my life because, in my culture, my father’s behaviour was acceptable, as women are seen as a possession of the man. I fled, with an unborn child inside me, and was relocated by the police. Now I’d entered ‘the system’, I was fed a story that I was a victim, and reassured that I would be looked after. I lacked confidence and self-worth, was shy and timid. Leaving the women’s refuge, I was rehoused and my first child was born. Yet whilst I focused on raising my child as a lone parent and put that unresolved trauma to one side, my experiences meant I was still vulnerable to predators. I learnt how to drive, pushed into university, studied for an honours degree in business management and became president of my university student union. But I still yearned for the family that disowned me. I would visit my mother in secret, with my young child. From the outside, it looked like my life had been transformed, but that unresolved trauma was still present. In 2012, I was stalked online by someone who later became my abuser. I entered into this abusive relationship by myself, naive and without any question. My abuser used religion to control and coerce me and – although there were signs that the perpetrator had a history of abusive behaviour, stalking and violence – I didn’t notice the red flags. He was suicidal and never took personal responsibility for his behaviour. I felt responsible and justified his behaviour. I thought I could change him. Giving him another ‘last chance’ saw me pressured into a second religious marriage. He used community pressure to trap me, while I became an expert in managing the abuse to protect my reputation. Shame, guilt and fear of blame consumed me.
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LANCASHIRE & NORTH WEST MAGAZINE
Above: Shana Begum
He tried to take my life. I experienced sexual abuse, physical abuse and coercive control, but felt I couldn’t reach out to anyone due to the shame and stigma. Noone asked me, “is everything OK at home?” Instead, friends often commented that I should feel lucky, with comments like “which Muslim man would take on another man’s child?” He tracked my phone, hacked into my emails and social media accounts. Any male friends were deleted from my phone contact list. I was forced to wear certain clothes. I was recorded, and these films used to blackmail me. The cultural bias to domestic abuse was shocking. ‘Victim blaming’ was normalised. Two more children came from the abusive relationship, but I was often told that, as a mother of three, should stay. In 2017 I slowly took back control of my life. I slowly built my confidence. My abuser now abused other members of my family, because he’d lost control of me. I fled my home of 17 years, leaving everything behind. And, while I finally reported him to the police, I still couldn’t expose everything, because of the shame attached to domestic abuse. We lost everything. Our home, friends, family, business – my children’s friends. Three innocent children entered ‘the system’. www.lancmag.com
