When the news of my marriage to Imran Khan, Pakistan’s cricket star turned politician, broke in January this year, my sister joked that the way I was being introduced in the press – as talaaq yafta (divorcée) – seemed to almost be a qualification, like a degree. I was described by the media as a divorced mother-of-three while, unsurprisingly, my husband’s previous marriage to Jemima Goldsmith was not discussed. I watched in dismay how the media spared no personal details to feed their bulletins – including flashing my children’s birth certificates on their screens. Where they found no information, they liberally filled in the blanks with their own imaginations. Now, since the announcement of our divorce was made last month, while I was abroad, quite a few things have dawned on me. One, I’m not as intelligent as I think. Two, the sad realisation that, if you’re a woman, it doesn’t matter how educated you are, how enviable your income might be or how confident and high-achiever you are. A poor, uneducated woman and I are both vulnerable to the same risks: any man can throw mud at you, can abuse you, can call your character into question and get away with it without having to prove anything. Fathers, brothers, husbands and sons often lead the way in the brutal slaughter of a woman’s basic right – all in the name of “love” and “protection”. talking to The Sunday Times, she claims “a conspiracy was hatched against me” and that she has been the victim of a witch-hunt. When high-profile marriages break apart, speculations on the union’s demise are common. Although a private matter between two adults, the media and public’s prurient interest helps stoke the flames. Lack of journalistic ethics already plagues our media. By promoting an unhealthy obsession with Imran and Reham’s marriage/split, it is imitating a western ‘tabloid reporting’ style. But in truth, the couple lent themselves to such media attention before and after their marriage. Imran Khan’s first divorce hardly created any media hysteria; it was a quiet, civilized and dignified parting of the ways. Imran and Reham’s ‘fast tracked’ marriage was a bit of a disaster from the beginning: instead of getting to know each other prior to tying the knot, according to Reham, their ‘non-compatibility’ became pronounced after their marriage. Despite familial opposition, if two people get along and have a congenial consonance, no power can tear them apart, but if two people are fundamentally unsuited, then nothing can keep them together. In a society that has an intrinsic tendency of attacking and denigrating women over issues of marriage, divorce and the domesticity in between, it is important to understand the break up without colouring either individual with a preconceived notion of ‘a man can do no wrong and a woman can do no right’. It is the responsibility of both parties when a marriage ends in failure. One-sided views can distort the reality of how and why a union works or fails, like it did in this case. Reham has said that her status as a woman made her an obvious target and thus an implicit victim; the media has been overly focused on her old videos, pictures and her former marriage. On the other hand, she reveals that her marriage to Imran Khan was not registered, thus giving her no entitlement benefits.
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