Death Threats and Isolation: The High Cost of Defying Iraq’s Sexual Violence Culture

For Sarah Jassim, an Iraqi women’s rights activist based in Baghdad, a smartphone camera has become her primary tool for justice. In a society where reporting sexual abuse is fraught with danger, Jassim records videos of harassers to create evidence that can be used in court or to publicly shame perpetrators. However, this activism has come at a severe personal cost. Jassim reports receiving death threats and warnings of acid attacks, forcing her to confine herself to her home for safety. She describes being accused of inciting public indecency simply for encouraging women to break their silence.

Her efforts have yielded results, including the arrest of a police officer alleged to have harassed schoolgirls. Yet, Jassim argues that the current legal framework is insufficient. She calls for explicit criminalization of “harassment” and “gender-based violence,” terms that are absent from Iraq’s penal code. “Recognising the problem is the best way to address it,” she states. “We need protection, abusers have to be deterred.”

The challenges faced by activists mirror the struggles of ordinary women seeking justice. Amal, whose name has been changed for her safety, has spent five years fighting a legal battle against her ex-husband, who she accuses of repeatedly raping their underage daughter at gunpoint. Amal recalls her daughter’s terrifying account: the father warned her, “No-one will hear you if I kill you.” Despite possessing medical documents and DNA evidence corroborating the assault, Amal feels abandoned by the system. Her ex-husband has hired multiple lawyers, while she cannot afford representation, and her own family has turned a blind eye. With her abuser still at large, Amal expresses deep despair, saying, “I fought all alone.”

Violence against women in Iraq remains widespread and significantly under-reported, according to a May report by a UN committee on the elimination of discrimination against women. The committee urged Iraq to repeal discriminatory laws, such as those allowing rapists to escape punishment by marrying their victims and those permitting reduced sentences for “honour killings.” Amal’s ex-husband once instructed a relative to “wash off our disgrace” if arrested, a phrase linked to the belief that a woman’s victimization compromises family honor.

The risks for advocates are existential. Yanar Mohammed, a prominent activist and co-founder of a few shelters available to abused women, was murdered last March outside her Baghdad home by armed men. Experts for the UN Human Rights Council noted that Mohammed had received death threats and online abuse for years, believed to originate from extremist religious militias. Hanaa Edwar, a fellow activist, revealed that Mohammed had sought her out just two days before her death. Edwar, who has also faced threats, laments the lack of institutional support: “There are no laws, no protection, and no justice for women in Iraq.”

Survivors like Samira, another pseudonym, describe a pervasive sense of vulnerability in public spaces. Samira recounts incidents of being followed by cars and exposed to pornography on public transport. When she reported being followed to police, officers told her they lacked the authority to intervene. Many women fear that reporting abuse will lead to family backlash or social stigma, prompting them to suffer in silence. Some even accuse police officers of perpetrating harassment themselves.

Muqdad Miri, a spokesman for Iraq’s Interior Ministry, acknowledged that harassment by police does occur but claimed it is rare and punished severely, with penalties up to ten years in prison. He suggested that the rise in social media documentation reflects a preference for public shaming over the arduous official reporting process. While police have received approximately 300 sexual violence reports this year, Miri admitted the true figures are higher due to societal customs and traditions that discourage reporting.

Mustafa Saadoon, head of the Iraqi Observatory for Human Rights, emphasized that the barrier is not just fear, but a system designed to dismiss women’s complaints. “The problem in Iraq is not that women stay silent. It is that when they speak, very little in the system is built to listen,” he said. Despite the grim reality, activists like Jassim and Edwar refuse to surrender. As Edwar noted, twenty-three years after the fall of Saddam Hussein, women’s rights appear to be regressing. Nevertheless, Jassim remains defiant: “If all of us are going to get scared, no-one will change anything.”