In March, I joined a volunteer group to visit the Acid Survivors Foundation (ASF) in order to explore how we could help them support survivors through advocacy or fundraising. We looked to collect more information on the foundation and interview those who were running it. That would allow our volunteer group to identify ways to support and would aid us in creating a short documentary.
I was particularly anxious about being respectful and appreciative of the trust that the girls and women who had survived acid attacks were showing us by meeting and talking with us.
The foundation’s building felt more like an office space rather than a place that I had imagined survivors would take refuge. After exchanging greetings with a few members of staff including ASF’s Executive Director, Sarder Jahangir Hossain, and Case and Partnership Management Coordinator, Tahmina Islam, we all sat down.
While we set up our cameras and collected our questions, our kind hosts brought us some refreshments. Then one of the women at the table turned on a fan and we began recording. We went through each member of the organization who had agreed to be interviewed one by one. It was a focused hour and a half, and the room remained mostly silent for its entirety.
The challenges faced by the foundation staff to help the survivors were many: Lack of financing, lack of available specialized medical treatment, lack of adequate legal services, and to no small degree, the incredible stigma faced by girls and women in their community. Once we finished, we were moved to another part of the building -- the bedrooms where some of the acid survivors were living. Sitting on the beds were two women.
Though this interview only took thirty minutes, time felt as if it had momentarily slowed down. The mood of our group had shifted entirely and, though I could not fully understand everything that was being said, I didn’t need to. The women's faces and tone told me enough.
That’s when I came to a stark realization -- the horror of acid violence knows no bounds; it could happen to anyone walking down the street. It was the first time I felt close to understanding the pervasive fear and anxiety that can accompany everyday life for so many.
Acid attacks are a form of violence that involves the intentional throwing of an acid, or other corrosive, at a person. Attacks are carried out with the intention of causing harm, inflicting suffering, and in certain instances, taking someone's life.
Such violence is considered by the UN as gender-based violence given that it almost always aims to control or subjugate women and girls. In 50% of cases, this form of violence stems from the perceived rejection experienced by men from women -- such as the refusal of marriage or the denial of sex.
Acid attacks have existed across time and borders. They are not just an issue in contemporary Bangladesh. They continue to be prominent throughout South-East Asia (eg Cambodia and Pakistan) -- in part due to the lack of emphasis placed on prevention by the governments.
Although Bangladesh has laws in place to prevent such brutality, the efficacy of these laws remains questionable. The 2002 Acid Control Act -- passed in order to halt the unauthorized sale of inorganic acids (ie sulphuric and hydrochloric acid) -- has only somewhat helped. Acid continues to remain available across Bangladesh. A mandatory purchasing registration is meant to be required, but that is typically ignored by sellers if enough money is offered.
Furthermore, though the death penalty has been established as the maximum punishment for this crime, many attacks go unreported and, therefore, unrecognized. Rokhsana Akhter, a Bangladeshi activist, told IRIN, “[the] media covers only those cases that go to court. The poor and powerless do not go to court. Their cases remain unreported.”
For many victims, justice and punishment of the attackers may seem futile as their lives have already been irreparably ruined. In most acid attack cases, the victim suffers close to unmitigable damages to their flesh and, in turn, their mentality. They are devalued and their scarring is seen as a public mark of shame -- making it near-impossible to navigate life like once before. To make matters worse, the victims of this crime are typically in the age groups of 10-19 years old.
Nonetheless, according to Hossain, these attacks have experienced a decrease since the start of the pandemic which begs the question: Is prevention working, or are victims reaching out for help less and less?
This is why non-profit organizations such as ASF are so valuable and are held in such high regard. Not only are they aiming to provide victims with medical, emotional, legal, rehabilitative, and reintegrative support, they are also doing critical work in spreading awareness of the issue through prevention initiative campaigns.
Though little can be done to actively prevent this type of violence without more helpful government action, spreading greater awareness of it online could help educate people on what it is and the importance of its prevention.
As we exited the ASF building, I felt heavy with a new understanding of what this kind of attack meant. The strength and resilience of the women was astounding even with the mental and physical anguish that their wounds brought them.
Unexpectedly, I still found something uplifting in our visit: The presence of hope and community amongst the members of staff and their interactions with the survivors.
Sophia Lewis Recchia is a student at the American International School, Dhaka.
