The bridal 'grab and run' By Craig S. Smith The New York Times FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 2005 BISHKEK, Kyrgyzstan When Ainur Tairova realized she was on her way to her wedding, she started choking the driver. The wedding was supposed to be to a man she had met only the day before, and briefly at that. Several of his friends had duped her into getting into a car; they picked up the would-be groom and headed for his home. Once there, she knew, her chances of leaving before nightfall would be slim, and by daybreak, according to local custom, she would have to submit to the role of wife or leave as a tainted woman. "I told him I didn't want to date anyone," Tairova, 28, recalled earlier this month. "So he decided to kidnap me the next day." Such abductions are common here. More than half of Kyrgyzstan's married women were snatched from the street by their husbands in a custom that is known as "ala kachuu," which translates roughly as "grab and run." In its most benign form, it is a kind of elopement, in which a man whisks away a willing girlfriend. But often it is something more violent. Recent surveys suggest that the rate of abductions has grown steadily over the past 50 years and that currently at least a third of Kyrgyzstan brides are taken against their will. The custom predates the 12th-century arrival of Islam and appears to have its roots in the region's once-marauding tribes, which periodically stole horses and women from rivals when supplies ran low. It is practiced in varying degrees by Turkic peoples across Central Asia but is most prevalent here in Kyrgyzstan, a poor, mountainous land that was for decades a backwater of the Soviet Union. Kyrgyz men say they snatch women because it is easier than courtship and cheaper than paying the standard "bride price," which can be as much as $800, plus a cow. Family or friends often pressure a reluctant groom, lubricated with vodka and beer, into carrying out an abduction. A 2004 documentary by a Canadian filmmaker, Petr Lom, records a Kyrgyz family - men and women - discussing a planned abduction as if the focus were an unruly mare. The film follows the men of the family as they wander through town hunting for the girl they planned on. When they cannot find her, they grab one that they meet by chance. Talant Bakchiev, 34, a graduate student at the university in Bishkek, said he helped kidnap a bride for his brother not long ago. "Men steal women to show that they are men," he said, revealing a row of gold-capped teeth with his smile. Once a woman has been taken to a man's home, her future in-laws try to calm her down and get a white wedding shawl onto her head. The shawl, called a "jooluk," is a symbol of her submission. Many women fight fiercely but about 80 percent of those kidnapped eventually relent, often at the urging of their own parents, who have been summoned to help make their daughters stay. The practice has technically been illegal for years, first under the Soviet Union and more recently under the 1994 Kyrgyz Criminal Code, but the law has rarely been enforced. "Most people don't know it's illegal," said Russell Kleinbach, a sociology professor at Bishkek's American University, whose studies of the practice have helped spur a national debate. The few prosecutions that do stem from bride snatching are usually for assault or rape, not for the abductions themselves. There are no national statistics on how many kidnappings go awry but there is plenty of anecdotal evidence to suggest that some end in tragedy. Four days after the sister of one of Kleinbach's students was kidnapped a few years ago, her body was found in a river. The family that abducted her was never charged with murder. In Lom's film, a family mourns a daughter who hanged herself after being kidnapped but they, too, were unsuccessful in bringing her abductors to trial. Families use force to keep the women from leaving or threaten the young women with curses that still have a powerful impact in this deeply superstitious land. Some families put bread on their doorstep to prevent an abducted bride from fleeing or an elderly woman of the family will lie across the threshold: stepping over either will supposedly bring a lifetime of bad luck. Once a girl has been kept in the home overnight, her fate is all but sealed: with her virginity suspect and her name tainted, she will find it difficult to attract any other husband. The custom is widely perceived as practical. "Every good marriage begins in tears," a Kyrgyz saying goes. For Tairova, the anxiety began on the eve of her high school graduation when a friend confided to her that a man named Elim, eight years her senior, planned to kidnap her at the ceremony the next day. She attended the graduation, but was terrified, unsure of who she could trust. The abductor never materialized. "I think this happens to all young women when they turn 16," Tairova said sitting in a room of Bishkek's American University, where she now works. She enrolled in the university in the southern Kyrgyz city of Jalal-Abad but soon learned that another family from her village was considering her as a bride for their son. Strangers began asking people at her school what she looked like. Finally, there came a knock at the door of the apartment she shared with her sister. Outside were 10 men, including the would-be husband. But they gave up after six hours of her refusals to step outside. She went back to live with her parents and began working as a bookkeeper in a tobacco plant. One day, a man came in and introduced himself and they spoke for 20 minutes. Tairova told him she was not interested in dating. The next day, she was kidnapped. Desperate, knowing her only chance was to stop the kidnappers before they reached her abductor's house, she blurted out in Russian that she "was not a girl anymore," a euphemism meaning she was no longer a virgin. It was a lie, but it worked. Her life in the village changed after that. Men showed no interest in her; people at the factory openly mocked her. Finally, her friends found her a suitor willing to overlook her past. After several months of dating, he asked her if she would marry him. She demurred. Then, one balmy September evening, she again found herself in a car filled with men, ostensibly on their way to a restaurant to meet other friends. But the car soon arrived at the farmhouse of her suitor's parents. The men dragged her from the car and carried her kicking into the house. She swore at her future mother-in-law. She ducked and struggled when the women tried to put the white cloth on her head. As with many Kyrgyz women, she eventually accepted her fate. She says she is happy with her husband now. "He says he had to kidnap me because he heard someone else was trying to kidnap me first," she said. "He's a good man." BISHKEK, Kyrgyzstan When Ainur Tairova realized she was on her way to her wedding, she started choking the driver. The wedding was supposed to be to a man she had met only the day before, and briefly at that. Several of his friends had duped her into getting into a car; they picked up the would-be groom and headed for his home. Once there, she knew, her chances of leaving before nightfall would be slim, and by daybreak, according to local custom, she would have to submit to the role of wife or leave as a tainted woman. "I told him I didn't want to date anyone," Tairova, 28, recalled earlier this month. "So he decided to kidnap me the next day." Such abductions are common here. More than half of Kyrgyzstan's married women were snatched from the street by their husbands in a custom that is known as "ala kachuu," which translates roughly as "grab and run." In its most benign form, it is a kind of elopement, in which a man whisks away a willing girlfriend. But often it is something more violent. Recent surveys suggest that the rate of abductions has grown steadily over the past 50 years and that currently at least a third of Kyrgyzstan brides are taken against their will. The custom predates the 12th-century arrival of Islam and appears to have its roots in the region's once-marauding tribes, which periodically stole horses and women from rivals when supplies ran low. It is practiced in varying degrees by Turkic peoples across Central Asia but is most prevalent here in Kyrgyzstan, a poor, mountainous land that was for decades a backwater of the Soviet Union. Kyrgyz men say they snatch women because it is easier than courtship and cheaper than paying the standard "bride price," which can be as much as $800, plus a cow. Family or friends often pressure a reluctant groom, lubricated with vodka and beer, into carrying out an abduction. A 2004 documentary by a Canadian filmmaker, Petr Lom, records a Kyrgyz family - men and women - discussing a planned abduction as if the focus were an unruly mare. The film follows the men of the family as they wander through town hunting for the girl they planned on. When they cannot find her, they grab one that they meet by chance. Talant Bakchiev, 34, a graduate student at the university in Bishkek, said he helped kidnap a bride for his brother not long ago. "Men steal women to show that they are men," he said, revealing a row of gold-capped teeth with his smile. Once a woman has been taken to a man's home, her future in-laws try to calm her down and get a white wedding shawl onto her head. The shawl, called a "jooluk," is a symbol of her submission. Many women fight fiercely but about 80 percent of those kidnapped eventually relent, often at the urging of their own parents, who have been summoned to help make their daughters stay. The practice has technically been illegal for years, first under the Soviet Union and more recently under the 1994 Kyrgyz Criminal Code, but the law has rarely been enforced. "Most people don't know it's illegal," said Russell Kleinbach, a sociology professor at Bishkek's American University, whose studies of the practice have helped spur a national debate. The few prosecutions that do stem from bride snatching are usually for assault or rape, not for the abductions themselves. There are no national statistics on how many kidnappings go awry but there is plenty of anecdotal evidence to suggest that some end in tragedy. Four days after the sister of one of Kleinbach's students was kidnapped a few years ago, her body was found in a river. The family that abducted her was never charged with murder. In Lom's film, a family mourns a daughter who hanged herself after being kidnapped but they, too, were unsuccessful in bringing her abductors to trial. Families use force to keep the women from leaving or threaten the young women with curses that still have a powerful impact in this deeply superstitious land. Some families put bread on their doorstep to prevent an abducted bride from fleeing or an elderly woman of the family will lie across the threshold: stepping over either will supposedly bring a lifetime of bad luck. Once a girl has been kept in the home overnight, her fate is all but sealed: with her virginity suspect and her name tainted, she will find it difficult to attract any other husband. The custom is widely perceived as practical. "Every good marriage begins in tears," a Kyrgyz saying goes. For Tairova, the anxiety began on the eve of her high school graduation when a friend confided to her that a man named Elim, eight years her senior, planned to kidnap her at the ceremony the next day. She attended the graduation, but was terrified, unsure of who she could trust. The abductor never materialized. "I think this happens to all young women when they turn 16," Tairova said sitting in a room of Bishkek's American University, where she now works. She enrolled in the university in the southern Kyrgyz city of Jalal-Abad but soon learned that another family from her village was considering her as a bride for their son. Strangers began asking people at her school what she looked like. Finally, there came a knock at the door of the apartment she shared with her sister. Outside were 10 men, including the would-be husband. But they gave up after six hours of her refusals to step outside. She went back to live with her parents and began working as a bookkeeper in a tobacco plant. One day, a man came in and introduced himself and they spoke for 20 minutes. Tairova told him she was not interested in dating. The next day, she was kidnapped. Desperate, knowing her only chance was to stop the kidnappers before they reached her abductor's house, she blurted out in Russian that she "was not a girl anymore," a euphemism meaning she was no longer a virgin. It was a lie, but it worked. Her life in the village changed after that. Men showed no interest in her; people at the factory openly mocked her. Finally, her friends found her a suitor willing to overlook her past. After several months of dating, he asked her if she would marry him. She demurred. Then, one balmy September evening, she again found herself in a car filled with men, ostensibly on their way to a restaurant to meet other friends. But the car soon arrived at the farmhouse of her suitor's parents. The men dragged her from the car and carried her kicking into the house. She swore at her future mother-in-law. She ducked and struggled when the women tried to put the white cloth on her head. As with many Kyrgyz women, she eventually accepted her fate. She says she is happy with her husband now. "He says he had to kidnap me because he heard someone else was trying to kidnap me first," she said. "He's a good man."