Neither married nor divorced

When Farida’s parents first forced her into marriage 27 years ago, it was with great resentment that she complied.

Farida (not her real name) was very young and intelligent, her future stretching before her; the man, whom she didn’t like at all and was twelve years her senior, barely finished elementary school.

Farida grew up in Sulu province at the southernmost tip of the Philippines, about 1500 nautical miles south of Manila. But like many Tausug girls in the tradition-bound islands, she had no choice but to obey her elders – especially after her own father, in an effort to quell her rebelling spirit, arranged for her would-be husband to have her kidnapped, thus sealing her fate.

Tausug men resort to bride abduction or pagguyud (guyud is Tausug for "to drag") in order to get themselves a wife. When this is done, the girl is as good as his.

The Tausugs are one of the 13 indigenous groupings in Mindanao. According to Tausug custom, a maiden dishonored, whether by going with a man or being taken by force, could only redeem herself by marrying the man. It is also the only way she could save her family’s name stained by the disgrace that befell her.

Thus was Farida married to Abulnasser in April 1977. Three adult daughters, a career in law, and a de facto separation later, Farida is still uncertain what to make of what happened to her.

"Under Tausug culture, no wrong has been done to me," she says, "but I did feel violated." After all she was only 16, and didn’t want to marry.

A politically dominant Moro group in Mindanao, alongside the Maguindanao and the Maranao, the Tausugs are considered the most open to modernity owing to Sulu’s brisk trade with other provinces and neighboring countries. The Tausugs often send their children to Manila and other big cities to get educated.

In the hinterland villages where subsistence agriculture is still the only means of livelihood, traditional practices still hold sway and parents still decide their children’s marriages. "One’s feelings are out of the question. The elders–the imam (religious leader), the barangay (village) captain, the parties involved in the negotiation–focus their discussion on the dowry and the details of the marriage ceremony," recalls Farida.

It is taken for granted that the parties to be married–the bride and the groom–abide by what the elders can agree on. To disobey is to show disrespect and is considered a grave violation of the adat (customary law) and as such, brings on new disgrace to the family.

Farida lived with Abdulnasser until 1985 when she decided to work in Basilan, leaving their three daughters with her in-laws.

"I did not love him, but he had qualities you could like in a man, and that made me stay on all those years. But if you ask me whether I grew to love him, I must say no, not love in the way most people understand love," she admits.

Farida’s marriage somehow survived because she didn’t give love much thought but attended instead to the everyday demands life made on her.

"I tried to be good to him. I was good to him, but because I did not love him, I was also severe to him. Every little mistake he committed I made big," she reveals.

Having won a scholarship, she went back to school and after graduation got herself a teaching job in Basilan. The job opened for her a way out of the bondage she felt her marriage to be and enabled her to pursue law much later. Farida also later took her children and sent them to school in Basilan.

Abulnasser had to stay behind in the island, being barangay chair, and also to tend the land he inherited. He would visit her and the children, bringing crops and money he earned from the copra harvest.

In 1987, she learned that Abdulnasser had gotten someone pregnant and had to marry her or he would be killed by the woman’s relatives. In Islamic law, pologamy is permitted as long as the man can afford it and upon the consent of the first wife.

When Abulnasser came to her in Basilan, he told her that he would divorce his other wife if she could forgive him. She instead asked him to go with her to a Shari’ah Court so that they may file for their divorce. Abulnasser refused and never heeded the Court’s summons.

Farida’s condition is what is known in Saudi Arabia as being a "hanging woman," neither up nor down. She is neither married nor divorced. Legally, she is married but is not living with, nor supported by, her husband. The term is used to describe a woman whose husband refuses to divorce her, says Moodhy Al-Khalaf, a Riyadh-based writer.

"Being legally still married, they are even denied the hope that things might get better if they were able to marry again. Why does it happen? Well, for a number of reasons but almost all of them boil down to a man’s taking revenge on a woman. A man may threaten to divorce a woman but if he knows that a woman wants a divorce, he may refuse and just decide to ‘hang’ her," Al-Khalaf adds.

Under the Shari’ah (Islamic Law), a divorce may be granted with the mutual consent of the parties involved. This is to prevent either side from committing abuse of discretion. But in Shariah, too, there is something called "khul’e" which allows a woman to divorce a man without his consent. But in cases where the respondent repeatedly ignores the order to appear in court three times, the petitioner may file a motion for reconsideration, requesting for a hearing in the absence of the other party. The Shari’ah judge may then rule in the woman’s favor and grant her the divorce.

For Farida, however, Abulnasser’s repeated refusal to appear in court and the pressure of family who did not want her divorced, prevented her from pursuing the legal separation.

Some Islamic countries, like Egypt and Jordan, have implemented "khul’e" and have given women greater control over their marital state. Al-khalaf says that "some people say that judges hesitate to implement ‘khul’e’ for fear women will abuse the law."

Does Shari’ah tell us that it is right for men to abuse the law but wrong for women to do so? "No, it does not," continues Al-khalaf. "Shari’ah has made both laws and hence both should be implemented equally. If we assume that it is a man’s right to remain married to a woman, then it is also a woman’s right to be supported by the man she is married to. There is not the faintest shadow of a doubt about this in Islamic law."

Meanwhile, Farida recounts how she threatened her husband: "I told him that if I meet someone, divorce or no divorce, I’ll go with him. He threatened me back. He told me he was prepared to kill."

Given the multiple responsibilities she had to cope with –the children’s needs, her work which required her to travel to the provinces, the emotional strain of it all–going to court for a divorce was much too punishing.

At 43, Farida is now involved with non-government organizations that help women who are themselves seeking legal separation from unhappy unions. Ironically, there was to be no closure in her own relationship with Abulnasser.

While it is common knowledge in the community and among her friends that she and Abulnasser no longer live as husband and wife, her own request for divorce is still pending in the Shari’ah Court and legally she is still a married woman.

Kim Hua, 43, a separated woman, says that walking out on a marriage sans a Shari’ah settlement is now acceptable, but men who might want your hand would think twice. They could be liable for committing zina (which loosely means adultery, but refers to all sexual relationships outside of marriage) and paying one fine or another.

Latifa Santos, 62, married and separated from a Tagalog husband, agrees that in Tausug society divorce does not necessarily dishonor a woman, especially if she is no longer happy in her marriage or her man has betrayed her. It is a recourse for her to have her own life and perhaps date again.

On the other hand, Farida herself is also apprehensive: a public pronouncement declaring her an unattached woman would once again invite marriage solicitors. She doesn’t want to go through the same process again, she says.

"I don’t want to be serving someone again. I’m content to have raised three children. They’re about the only thing I never regretted having." She loves her independence, she says, and though there would be times when she feels afraid of growing old alone, she would rather not think of it. "I’m very busy. Anyway, I hardly have time to think of it. Besides, I know what married life is, and I am still taking time healing."

According to Al-khalaf, the most important questions are: How can this state of affairs possibly be legal? How can a man be given the right to have such absolute control over a woman’s life? How can any human being be left at the mercy of a person seeking constant revenge? Many of these women have been refused divorces time and time again by judges who see "no reason" to grant a divorce.

Many Islamic women, Tausug or not, believe that the problem is not Islamic law but cultural, not religion but rather the subjective interpretation and implementation of religion.

Today, many Tausug daughters no longer submit to pre-arranged marriages. And Farida herself promises that her three daughters will have the freedom to choose their own husbands.

"It has to be so. It goes with the times too. You can’t hold back time. Changes are bound to happen. Children go out into the world, get educated and come back changed. Tradition cannot hold out for so long," Farida says.

The author is a Sama Dilaut or Badjao. She heads an all-women Muslim research collective. Contact Women’s Feature Service Phil., Inc. by email at [email protected]