Honour Killings in the UK: The Myths We Must Break
We like to think of honour killings as something that happens “elsewhere.” In another country. In another culture. But so-called “honour-based” violence has claimed the lives of girls and women right here in the UK—while the systems meant to protect them have often failed.
These killings are not about honour. They are about control, patriarchy, and the belief that their families must police women’s choices. The victims are daughters, sisters, mothers—many of them British citizens—who simply wanted the right to live freely.
What Is an Honour Killing?
An “honour” killing happens when a person, most often a woman, is murdered by family members who believe she has brought shame to the family. That shame might be as simple as refusing an arranged marriage, seeking divorce, wearing what she chooses, dating someone of her own choosing, or reporting abuse.
There is no honour in this violence. Only loss.
The Faces Behind the Headlines
Her parents murdered Shafilea Ahmed, 17, in 2003 for refusing a forced marriage. Her body was discovered months later near the River Kent. Despite clear signs of escalating control and violence, her school and social services could not intervene in time.
Her father, uncle, and cousins in 2006 murdered Banaz Mahmod, 20. She had left an abusive marriage and was in a consensual relationship when she was killed. Before her death, Banaz had approached police five times, begging for help. She was not believed.
Her husband killed Rania Alayed, 25, in 2013 after she began embracing Western values. Her body was and only recently discovered in 2025—twelve years after her death.
Her brother with the help of their mother strangled with a scarf Rukhsana Naz, 19, in 1998. She had become pregnant after leaving her forced marriage.
Her husband murdered Fawziyah Javed, 31, in 2021 when he pushed her off Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh during a trip intended as a ruse. She had endured coercive control, physical abuse, and threats throughout her marriage—and had reported these to the police. Her last words to a witness—“Don’t let my husband near me, he pushed me”—helped convict him. Fawziyah’s death and that of her unborn child show just how vulnerable, even highly educated women can be when systems fail to act in time.
The Numbers Are Rising
According to a 2024 Guardian report, England and Wales recorded over 3,500 honour-based abuse offences in a single year—a 60% increase in two years. But the real number is likely much higher. Fear, isolation, and pressure from extended family networks often silenced victims.
The System Still Fails Victims
What unites many of these cases is not just the brutality—but the missed opportunities. Banaz Mahmod approached police five times. Fawziyah Javed reported abuse and gathered evidence. Neither was protected.
These aren’t just personal tragedies—they are systemic failures. Victims are often disbelieved, misunderstood, or dismissed by authorities. Sometimes it’s ignorance. Sometimes it’s fear of offending cultural sensitivities. Either way, the result is the same: women die.
Let’s Call It What It Is
Honour killings are not cultural. They are criminal. Culture should never be an excuse to commit or ignore violence.
Many survivors of honour-based abuse say they were discouraged from speaking out—not just by family, but by professionals who didn’t want to be seen as racist or disrespectful. But ignoring abuse to avoid discomfort is complicity.
What Can We Do?
- Name it.
Stop calling these “honour” crimes. There is no honour in violence.
- Believe survivors.
So many victims were dismissed when they asked for help. When someone says they are afraid, believe them the first time.
- Support the organisations doing the work.
Groups like The Halo Project, Karma Nirvana, and Women’s Aid work with survivors of honour-based abuse every day.
- Educate others.
Talk about these issues. Share the stories. Write. Create. Refuse to look away.
Why I Write About This
As a writer and advocate, I tell stories like Sophia Kruger’s in Sun on Your Back—stories of women trapped in violence, stories society struggles to face. Sophia’s silence, denial, and eventual breaking point mirror what so many actual women endure.
But fiction allows us to go deeper. It allows us to ask: What would happen if we really listened?
If this blog made you uncomfortable? Good. Sit with that discomfort. Then use it. Because silence has cost too many lives already.
