Madam Chair, thank you for your kind invitation to speak.
Today I will be referring to the victim as “she” and the abuser as “he”.
I wonder how many times we have heard these words spoken to us: “If it was that bad, why didn't you just leave?” Today I feel compelled to share my story in order to break down the walls of secrecy and shame that perpetuate abuse. Due to cultural taboos, domestic violence is rarely described. Unfairly, it is the victims who are blamed for the abuse. With increased sensitivity to the problem, I hope that instead of asking the victim why she didn't leave, people will begin to ask the abuser why he hurt her and will hold him accountable.
I invite you to journey with me as I share my story. At times you will feel pain. At times you will get angry. I want to show you the fear that the abuser instills in the victim. I want to describe to you the harrowing details that unfolded from the day I was married to a supposedly respectable, warm and charming man. I was subjected to emotional, physical and sexual abuse almost daily. He tried to kill me on many occasions. As a result of my husband's beatings and his rage, I now live with an artificial jaw after having gone through 10 major jaw surgeries. I live with ongoing excruciating pain. I have lost all the nerves in my face.
I was a victim of domestic violence. I was brutally tortured for over 12 years. It didn't happen in a third world country. It happened right here in Canada. In fact, it happened in Vancouver. My marriage was arranged. My abuse began within hours of getting married. For the first time in my life, I was asked by someone if I had been raped. Yes, I was raped brutally on my wedding night. From that day on, my abuser instilled fear in me. The failure of my family members and bystanders empowered him. The system that should have protected me seemed to protect him.
The beatings were relentless. I had unceasing pain. He kicked me, beat me and punched me until he was tired. The emotional, mental and sexual abuse was constant. He was so charming outside, fooling even the doctors, the professionals, the police and the community. He hung me by my sari. He doused me with kerosene. He unsuccessfully tried to push me into an ocean. He hoped that all of this would look like a suicide. He even forced me to drink poison.
By sharing my story, especially the unspeakable accounts of rape and abuse, the so-called “(dis)honour”-based violence, depression, murder attempts, and constantly being urged to take my own life, I hope to let other victims know they're not alone in their suffering. I want to give the victims the courage to speak out and stop the cycle of abuse. I sincerely hope that by my describing the many forms of abuse I suffered, and recounting it as a survivor's trauma, I am also able to reveal how I dealt with this pain and the memories and how I found strength to move on.
My four children were so terrified of him they made a secret bed and tried to hide under it. They covered their heads with pillows so that they couldn't see the abuse.
There are so many abusers who live among us, hiding in plain sight, never publicly identified despite abusing multiple victims over decades. This is possibly due to the existence of a broken system that causes the victims to remain silent.
Without knowing it, my husband and his equally abusive family gave me a very public platform. Now I can speak on behalf of victims who cannot speak for themselves, who are imprisoned by fear and abuse. This time I have a louder voice, one that will change the misconception around domestic violence.
Being a survivor requires great courage. I am unmasking my story, but I refuse to be defined by the history of violence I left behind. This abuse isn't my identity. I fought hard to acquire the skills to cope, to survive, to recover, to combat cultural labels, and to thrive.
We continue to see victims failed over and over. The punishment for the abuser does not fit the crime. Domestic violence is still looked at as a private matter. Most of the time we're looking at evidence of abuse. What about the abuse that has no visible signs?
If there was a victim—