Thirty-year-old Muna Hassan fled barefoot into the street, carrying nothing but a body that had narrowly escaped death and a soul suspended between fear and disbelief. When she confronted her husband with the truth, the response was a threat. Betrayal turned into an attempted murder. Though she survived physically, justice did not survive with her.
Muna takes a deep breath as she recalls that period, when she knocked on the doors of the judiciary seeking fairness that might restore a fragment of her rights. Her husband, however, remained behind bars for only six days before being released on bail, leaving the case suspended in court corridors for an entire year. There-between flight and waiting-Muna discovered the fragility of safety in the absence of law, and the weight of truth when it is left unaccounted for.
The shock was not singular. Muna says her husband’s betrayal was not ordinary but doubly devastating. When she confronted him, he brandished a sharp weapon in her face, leaving escape as her only option. She sought refuge at her family’s home and chose silence regarding the nature of the betrayal.
Muna explains: “Silence was not weakness, but another survival strategy. In a society that burdens the victim with blame, I knew that revealing my husband’s infidelity with a man could turn against me as a woman. So I reported only the attempted murder and buried the rest of the truth inside my chest.”
Muna discovered the fragility of safety when the law is absent,
and the weight of truth when it is left without accountability.
She adds: “In a society that places the burden of trauma on the victim, I was not allowed to tell the whole truth. Had the betrayal involved a woman, it might have been more socially ‘understandable.’ But speaking of a relationship with a man would have put me under suspicion, casting blame on my femininity and my body. That is why I limited my complaint to the attempted murder alone.”
In this context, the issue is not sexual orientation itself, but a culture of repression that forces many into silence and denial-without justifying violence or attributing it to any identity.
Muna’s story is not an exception but a reflection of a broader crisis. The Strategic Center for Human Rights reported monitoring more than 53,000 cases of domestic violence in Iraq over two and a half years, noting that 92% of these cases occurred between spouses-a shocking indicator of how widespread violence has become within spaces meant to be safe.
In a scene not far removed from Muna’s tragedy, Farah Mohammed (37) found herself facing violence in its most brutal form. Her home—meant to be a refuge-became the stage for an attempt to erase her existence by fire, simply because she confronted her husband with his infidelity to another woman. The crime did not stop at the flames he set to burn her; it extended into the timeline of justice itself. The lawsuit she filed remained suspended in family court corridors for over a year-long enough to allow the perpetrator to escape, as he left Baghdad with the other woman.
Farah points out that the case relied solely on her testimony, while the accused denied the attempted burning and instead accused her of setting the fire herself-amid the absence of material evidence or eyewitnesses to prove what happened behind closed doors.
She says: “Release was the most likely outcome. The law does not convict without conclusive evidence, and when evidence is absent, the crime remains without punishment. Proof requires direct data, such as medical reports or eyewitness testimony.”
Article 182/C of Iraq’s Criminal Procedure Law grants courts the authority to release an accused if evidence is deemed insufficient, reinforcing the principle that freedom is the default and conviction requires certainty. Thus, Farah finds herself deprived of her right to a fair trial—not due to her husband’s innocence, but because of the absence of eyewitnesses and the inadequacy of evidence.
The law does not convict without conclusive evidence,
and when evidence is absent, the crime remains present without punishment.
Farah says bitterly: “No man assaults his wife in front of an audience or in a public square. Here lies the cruel paradox: the crime is present, the evidence is absent. Perhaps the solution lies in documenting what happens behind closed doors through in-home cameras-to move the truth from darkness into the space of justice.”
Addressing victims’ fears of losing their rights due to delayed rulings or weak evidence, lawyer Alaa Blasim explains: “A right does not lapse as long as its holder continues to claim it.” He refers to Article 130 of Iraq’s Criminal Procedure Law No. 23 of 1971 (as amended), which allows harmed parties to reopen cases when new evidence emerges—particularly medical reports issued by forensic medicine or specialized health authorities.
Yet this legal framework, despite its importance, collides with a far more complex social reality-especially when the victim is a woman. Practical application of the law is shaped by social factors that make access to justice more costly and complicated for women: fear of stigma, family pressure pushing many toward silence or withdrawal, and the difficulty of documenting violence in an environment that prioritizes “concealment” over accountability.Yet this legal framework, despite its importance, collides with a far more complex social reality-especially when the victim is a woman. Practical application of the law is shaped by social factors that make access to justice more costly and complicated for women: fear of stigma, family pressure pushing many toward silence or withdrawal, and the difficulty of documenting violence in an environment that prioritizes “concealment” over accountability.
Slow Procedures… Prolonged Violence
Testimonies from survivors indicate that prolonged litigation does not merely delay justice—it amplifies psychological and economic harm and places children at the heart of the crisis. Divorce does not mark the end of suffering, as abuse and alimony cases remain pending, burdens accumulating on women amid insufficient institutional support.
Muna recounts bitterly: “The issue is not a moral description of the act, but the legal and social structure that forces women to bear the burden of waiting and leaves children hostage to prolonged judicial disputes. The legal suspension of alimony and the fragmentation of cases—divorce, abuse, alimony-reproduce unequal gendered burdens, where women alone shoulder financial and caregiving gaps, while losses are managed at the expense of children.”
This testimony reflects a widespread reality for many women, where slow judicial procedures become an added burden that multiplies harm and places families-especially children-within a circle of social, economic, and psychological vulnerability, amid the absence of swift legal protection and blocked paths to stability and safety.
Delays in cases of violence against women are not a minor administrative flaw,
but a direct threat to life.
Feminist activist Noor Fawzi warns that delays in cases of violence against women are not merely administrative failures but direct threats to life. She stresses that granting evasive husbands additional time to escape accountability due to procedural slowness exposes a dangerous gap in protection systems. She calls for accelerating judicial processes to ensure immediate responses to domestic violence cases, reduce prolonged suffering, and provide effective, timely protection for women and their children.
She says: “As activists defending women’s rights, we refuse to normalize this reality or leave women to fight alone. Support begins with listening to pain, then turns into action by pressuring judicial institutions to fulfill their role. True support does not stop at sympathy-it seeks to build a safe environment where abuse becomes an exception feared by the perpetrator, not a reality the victim is forced to endure.”
In parallel, Iraqi feminist organizations have affirmed that the problem lies not in the absence of laws, but in the fragility of their implementation. Many cases of violence against women disappear before reaching court doors. Even when some cases do reach the judiciary, they often end with light sentences that fail to reflect the severity of the violation. Alongside legal tracks, numerous cases are closed through tribal settlements or extra-judicial solutions, leaving perpetrators beyond accountability and women trapped in a protection vacuum.
Activists and rights advocates argue that women’s voices—meant to be a cornerstone in defending their rights-have become besieged between erasure and exploitation, as family cases accumulate in neglect and procrastination. This occurs amid the absence of effective legislation guaranteeing women’s rights, including a law to combat domestic violence.
Despite repeated calls from the United Nations and civil society organizations, the draft Domestic Violence Law, approved by the Council of Ministers in 2015, remains stalled in parliament without ratification.
These criticisms arise within a context of legislative paralysis imposed by political disputes within the presidency of parliament, resulting in the obstruction of several vital laws-threatening to exacerbate social crises, particularly those related to the rights of women and children.
Numbers That Reflect the Scale of the Crisis
The Strategic Center for Human Rights reports documenting more than 53,000 cases of domestic violence in Iraq over two and a half years, noting that 92% of these cases occurred between spouses.
The center’s report cites statistics from the Supreme Judicial Council showing 13,857 cases of domestic violence recorded in the first half of 2024, 18,436 cases in 2023, and 21,595 cases in 2022—adding that spousal assaults accounted for 75% of all cases.
According to data published by the Arab Barometer, a large proportion of respondents in five of seven surveyed countries reported an increase in violence against women over the past year. The highest rates were in Tunisia (54%), Lebanon (42%), Iraq (40%), Jordan (39%), and Palestine (38%). In contrast, significant numbers in Morocco (40%) and Mauritania (31%) reported a decline in gender-based violence.
Activists view the rise in violence against women not as an isolated phenomenon, but as a mirror of deeper structural imbalance-reflected in rising divorce rates, as family disintegration becomes an inevitable outcome when human security is absent. In this context, statistics from the Supreme Judicial Council for November 2025 recorded 5,805 divorce cases, numerically exposing the conflicts within Iraqi families.
Social Norms and Legal Complexities
Against this backdrop, social researcher Amal Mohammed affirms that ongoing crises, declining legal effectiveness, and the dominance of tribal customs have contributed to worsening this phenomenon-opening the door to concealing large numbers of cases of violence against women due to social stigma and fear of reporting or confronting the perpetrator.
She explains that women’s responses to domestic violence vary: some endure abuse out of weakness or fear, while others turn to the law and community policing, which consistently asserts readiness to provide support to abused women. Conversely, some families still criminalize a woman’s decision to file a complaint against her husband, forcing her-if she does-to endure long waiting periods and complex procedures.
She adds that while some women may afford litigation costs, they face prolonged procedures and routine delays, necessitating intervention by social researchers to assess psychological and social conditions and seek solutions such as reconciliation-ostensibly to protect the interests of children affected by the dispute.
Delays in adjudicating domestic violence cases do not signify the absence of justice,
but rather reflect procedural flaws and a lack of evidentiary tools.
In the same context, lawyer Dr. Alaa Blasim explained that delays in domestic violence and alimony cases in personal status courts stem from multiple intertwined reasons-chief among them the heavy caseloads compared to the shortage of judges and social researchers, who play a pivotal role by preparing professional reports that help judges understand the social context of disputes.
Blasim adds that existing laws often mandate social investigations and reconciliation attempts before rulings are issued-procedures that consume significant time and lead to repeated postponements. Moreover, many abuse cases occur within homes without witnesses, prompting courts to act cautiously due to weak evidence.
He notes that some defendants deliberately delay proceedings by failing to attend hearings, changing residences, or submitting procedural defenses and repeated appeals. Additionally, overlapping judicial tracks in some cases-where criminal and family lawsuits proceed in parallel-require waiting for medical or investigative outcomes before final judgment.
Blasim concludes that delays in resolving domestic violence cases do not mean justice is absent, but reflect procedural shortcomings and evidentiary gaps. He urges victims to continue demanding their rights and not to give up, as the law remains open whenever evidence becomes available.
Muna chose to leave—not to escape a place, but to flee a law that threatened her with loss more than it promised fairness. Faced with a harsh choice between relinquishing custody of her children under the amended Personal Status Law or withdrawing her case against her ex-husband, she chose to withdraw and carried her three children to a remote village.
Muna’s story is not an isolated incident, but an open wound exposing the slowness of justice and the fragility of protection-where women are sometimes forced to survive in silence when the law fails to become a refuge.
