Kidnapped Brides: A Spectrum of Cases

Bride kidnapping, the act of abducting a woman to marry her, is a practice that persists in Kyrgyzstan. According to local NGOs, approximately 40% of married women in the country of 5.4 million are said to have entered marriage through abduction. While outlawed by legislation enacted in 1994, these acts are rarely prosecuted as crimes.

I first learned about bride kidnapping in Kyrgyzstan during my university studies in international politics. Since then, I've made it a point to regularly review materials on the subject. To capture the nuances of this issue, which are difficult to convey through text alone, I traveled to Kyrgyzstan in July 2012.

Initially, I planned to stay for two months. However, the project evolved to include documenting the lives of couples a month after their forced marriage, attending court proceedings, and building trust with subjects who were initially reluctant to speak. This extended engagement resulted in a five-month initial reporting period, during which approximately 25 couples agreed to be photographed.



Among them are women who found happiness after their abduction, those suffering from domestic violence, a young girl driven to suicide, and women who were rescued by their relatives after being taken.

Unveiling Complex Underpinnings

As my research progressed, I learned that bride kidnapping is not an ancient Kyrgyz tradition but a practice that surged in the 20th century. Simultaneously, I began to understand the intricate web of factors—including nomadic cultural values and community dynamics—that contribute to its persistence. The more I sought to comprehend the mindset of the over 80% of abducted women who ultimately accept marriage, the more I grappled with how to portray the reality of bride kidnapping.

It was through my work with a woman named Dinara that I began to grasp the internal conflict experienced by abducted women.

“Let me go! I don’t love Akhmat!”



I first met Dinara, desperately resisting her abduction, three and a half months into my assignment. Five hours later, after consulting with her parents, she agreed to the marriage. For the following two weeks, I stayed with her family, documenting their newlywed life. Late at night, after the household had fallen asleep, we communicated using a dictionary. I learned that she had planned to work in Turkey a year later and that her dream was to live in the city.

In January of this year, I visited Dinara again, now nine months pregnant, for the first time in a year and a half.

The photo collection dedicates over 40 pages to Dinara's story, tracing her journey from university student to wife, homemaker, and mother.

While 'bride kidnapping' often tends to be sensationalized in the media, I hope that by presenting these individual stories as photo narratives, readers will not only understand the reality of this practice but also connect with the women's experiences and resilience. My aim is for readers to contemplate the nature of happiness and to recognize the strength and dignity of Kyrgyz women.