The Nazaha precedent: battered woman's conviction stands but changes legal history

Nazaha lost her final appeal. But her case has forever changed how Maldivian courts view victims who strike back against their abusers. For the first time, the Supreme Court recognised "Battered Woman Syndrome" as a valid partial defence. The precedent came too late for Nazaha, but it could be potentially life-changing for others trapped in cycles of abuse.  

"Nazaha is the victim of an underfunded and failed social services,” lawyer Hamza Latheef observed, echoing a widely-shared sentiment on social media.

“This judgement is a reminder that there are vulnerable persons wallowing in helplessness and unable to escape the situation unless we agree as a people that we need to do better to help them."

Nazaha, now in her mid-30s, never denied her crime. It happened on the afternoon of June 22, 2010. During an altercation at her home, she stabbed her ex-husband Hassan Shahid in the back with a five-inch blade. He succumbed to the injuries shortly thereafter. 

In 2011, despite her claims of acting out of fear following years of documented abuse, Nazaha was convicted of intentional homicide. After slowly progressing through the appeal process, her case finally reached the Supreme Court in February 2025. 

The main argument from Nazaha’s lawyer was that her actions should be seen through the lens of her history as an abuse victim. After much deliberation, the five-member bench was split. On February 13, a narrow 3-2 majority decision upheld Nazaha’s conviction. 

Nazaha's actions did not meet the criteria for self-defence under shariah law, Chief Justice Muthasim Adnan declared in the majority opinion. Because Shahid had been stabbed in the back, Nazaha could not have been facing an imminent threat, he concluded. 

Justice Dr Azmiralda Zahir, who joined the majority along with Justice Ali Rasheed, recognised Battered Woman Syndrome (BWS) as an admissible defence to mitigate culpability. But there was no medical evidence to prove Nazaha suffered from the condition, she ruled.

Justice Aisha Shujune dissented. Nazaha had clearly been in a vulnerable position due to Shahid’s incessant physical abuse, she said. The prosecution’s evidence failed to conclusively prove intent to kill,  she stressed. Shujune disagreed over the absence of imminent danger. Women subject to continuous violence are under threat at all times, she suggested.

Justice Shujune found fault with the criminal court’s “selective” approach in considering a paraphrased version of Nazaha's police statement – taken without legal representation on the day of the incident – as evidence of intent. But since Nazaha's actions did end Shahid's life, Shujune favoured ordering the lower court to revise its verdict based on a lesser charge. Justice Dr Mohamed Ibrahim supported the dissenting opinion.

The precedent in the majority opinion paves the way for women in similar cases to avail themselves of the BWS defence, which could help them beat charges or serve a shorter sentence on a lesser charge. 

The ruling shed light on the difficult intersection between criminal justice and domestic violence in a society where protective systems routinely fail the most vulnerable, and professional help for mental illness is inaccessible to those who need it the most. 

BWS is a form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder where women develop low self-esteem and dependence. They become conditioned to feel they cannot defend themselves against physically stronger abusers, exhibiting "learned helplessness" as they submit to a cycle of violence followed by contrition. Victims who do defend themselves often strike during periods when the abuser appears subdued — precisely when the court might not recognise an "imminent threat."

Nazaha's legal team was glad to see BWS recognised as a partial defence. But they were disheartened by the failure to conduct a psychiatric evaluation, a critical lapse that undermined the appeal.

Despite her insistence on having acted in a state of psychological distress and the prosecution acknowledging her history of self-harm in court, a psychiatric evaluation was not ordered. The criminal court had refused to call witnesses who could have backed Nazaha's defense, taking her statement to be a confession.

The state's failure to gauge Nazaha's mental state was discussed at length during the Supreme Court hearing. 

"This is not something they weren't aware of. So for a decision to be made based on that was not something that we had foreseen at all, and I don't think it's right,” Mariyam Nihayath, Nazaha’s legal counsel for the appeal, told the Maldives Independent.

The Supreme Court could have ordered a new psychiatric evaluation, Nihayath said, conceding however that it would have been impossible to determine Nazaha’s mental state at the time more than a decade later. 

Many such odds were stacked against Nazaha. 

Within 24 hours of her arrest, police officers questioned her and obtained her statement without a defence lawyer present. From her initial interrogation through every court hearing, Nazaha consistently denied any intent to kill Shahid. She maintained the stabbing occurred in an impaired mental state triggered by fear and frustration after years of horrific abuse. Since proving intent falls on the state — a  burden her legal team believed the prosecution had failed to meet — they remained hopeful of acquittal, especially given the lack of due diligence in her initial sentencing.

The apex court judgment was devastating for Nazaha. But her legal team drew comfort from Nazaha getting to share her story.  

"We wanted to give her an opportunity to present her case, to say what she wanted to say, whatever she was feeling at the time and the reasons behind it,” said Niyahath.

“We wanted to bring it out at the hearing and present it so that unlike both the previous lost opportunities [initial trial and High Court appeal], people and the court would see the full picture and know what was behind what happened that day.”

Nazaha was the eldest of five siblings. The family lived in a cramped 100-square-foot room in Henveiru Baikandige in Malé  Neglected by both parents, Nazaha took care of her younger siblings, sacrificing her own education. 

She was only 16 when she appears to have been groomed into an intimate relationship with Shahid, who was then in his late 20s. Within a week of turning 18, Nazaha married Shahid, who offered financial assistance to support her siblings. 

Nazaha moved to Shahid's residence and became a surrogate mother to his eldest son from a previous marriage. At age seven, Shahid’s son had moved to Malé from his mother’s island after his father second marriage. 

Nazaha’s stepson spoke to the Maldives Independent about his childhood experiences in the troubled household. He recounted how Nazaha went out of her way to accommodate his relocation in the middle of the academic year, buying school books and personally tutoring him to help catch up.

"Nazahatha was taking care of her siblings too, so she was extremely mature for her age. Sometimes she would feel more mature than my dad. She is very hardworking and she is very smart," he recalled.

Her warmth stood out to him because she was more present in his life compared to Shahid. Nazaha picked him up from school, fixed his meals and spent hours helping him with his homework every day. 

"This is one thing I remember vividly. She handed me a dictionary one day and said, 'This would help you a lot. If you don't know a word, look it up, and if you come across another word you don't know, look that up too. That's how most problems are. When you're trying to solve a problem you'll come across several more problems, but if you keep going, eventually you'll reach a solution.' That's something I still apply in my life today," he recounted.

"That was the best year I can remember in my childhood, right after I moved to Malé. Dad was mostly busy with his work and trips so he was away, but Nazahatha was always there for me. She was both the mom and dad for me. Even my dad would admit it back then."

Shahid had "severe anger issues,” according to his son, now 25, who said he loved his late father and cherished fond memories. 

But he also remembered Shahid’s beatings. There were days when he skipped school because of visible facial injuries. He was aware of the abuse that Nazaha endured.

"It eventually got to a point where it was very common for them to fight. When I say fighting, I'm not saying it like it was a mutual thing. No matter what anyone says, a fight between a man and a woman is not very mutual," he said.

Shahid's son, who was 11 at the time of his father's death, recalled how the abuse worsened with Nazaha's pregnancy. He stayed up on many nights listening to the sounds of fighting, mingled with the intervention of the crowd that gathered downstairs.

"I even remember the cops showing up many times and taking notes and just leaving," he said.

Following a tumultuous marriage, the couple divorced in 2008, and Nazaha moved back to her family home. According to court documents, the couple kept in touch after the divorce, even travelling abroad with their child. But some time after the trip, Nazaha stopped answering Shahid's calls. He retaliated by cutting off child support. 

Nazaha claimed she could no longer afford to care for her child. She left the child at Shahid's mother's house after a case was filed against her for custody. Having to take legal action angered Shahid, who allegedly threatened to gang rape her.

The abuse continued even after their divorce. Shahid harassed and abused her on the road, at her house and even her workplace. In some instances, he was alleged to have abused their child, who was a little over two at the time of Shahid's death. 

In one incident mentioned during the trial, Shahid showed up at Heat Gym where Nazaha worked, and severely beat and strangled her in front of staff and several witnesses.

According to Nazaha's defence lawyer at the trial, the police prohibited Shahid from entering her home after the multiple incidents of violence. But Shahid continued to violate the order, most consequentially on the day of the incident.

On the fateful day in June 2010, the family court attempted to deliver a summons to Nazaha for a hearing in the custody battle. But Nazaha told her younger sibling to tell the court officer there was no adult at home.

A short while later, Shahid arrived. He knocked on Nazaha's door and barged into her room when she opened. Shahid yelled out "[She] is here. You [guys] come quick," according to Nazaha. But the court officer disputed her account, claiming Shahid had said, "Hey, friend, come." 

Shahid then started searching behind the TV rack, which Nazaha described as "typical" behaviour as he would always look for something to beat her with.

Shahid's threat of gang rape rang in Nazaha's mind. Years of brutal abuse had accumulated like a pressure cooker, and in that moment — watching him search for a weapon — her terror and desperation reached breaking point. She grabbed the knife and plunged it into his back. 

She then called the police. When they arrived, she showed them the knife and turned herself in. 

Before the fatal stabbing, Nazaha had reported her abuse to the police and the Ministry of Health and Family on multiple occasions. 

"I always feel that the state has a dual role, and I think that is where they fail in these cases," Nihayath explained. "She had filed so many complaints. She had done everything that an individual who was suffering abuse could have done. She submitted cases to several police stations... This cycle of violence was brought to the state's attention." 

But the state interventions only came in the form of verbal advice and de-escalating ongoing disputes. There were no supporting documents for the purported order prohibiting Shahid from entering Nazaha’s home. The police order had presumably been verbal.

The failure of social services was arguably responsible for the loss of two lives: the death of Shahid and Nazaha’s lifetime in prison. The couple’s child was robbed of two parents and the trajectory of two families was irrevocably altered.

"This was a result of a continuous cycle of generational violence. Maybe if the signs of anger and abuse were identified earlier and they had proper help, things could've been different and both of them could have been saved,” Shahid’s son suggested. 

“And a lot of people would've been spared from the pain and the healing that it took.”

Nazaha's case was marked by systematic failure at every turn. But it offers an opportunity to examine shortcomings and enact reforms. Nazaha’s story might be unique in the Maldives but the realities of the abuse she suffered is far from uncommon. There are many women at present stuck helplessly in cycles of violence, unable to overcome their predicament.

"I feel that it's horrible that everyone tries to keep things like this hidden under the wraps. The damage is done, it has been ages. We have to learn from it. It's not good to act like nothing happened and forget about it. What if this happens to someone else?" Shahid's son asked.

"I want something hopeful to come out of this for the next person in a similar situation. I want authorities to take domestic violence seriously.”

There were 3,123 cases of domestic violence filed between 2019 and 2023, according to the Family Protection Authority. Men were the perpetrators in the vast majority of these cases. The number of reported cases has risen markedly from a decade ago, indicating growing awareness among the public.

Since Nazaha's incarceration, the country has made significant strides with legislation on combating violence against women, including the Sexual Harassment Act, the Gender Equality Act and most importantly the Domestic Violence Prevention Act of 2012. The latter law clearly defines acts of domestic violence, tasks relevant authorities with specific responsibilities, mandates the documentation of any investigations, and offers protection orders for victims.

Enforcement, unfortunately, tells a different story. 

"These gains in law are yet to manifest in practice to change the de facto situation of women and their experience of violence in both the private and public spheres,” a 2019 report by the gender ministry observed.

As key challenges to implementation, the report underscored the lack of political will as well as “significant limitations in human resource capacity development and financial resource allocation to provide the necessary services and protections provided in law.”  

Other studies repeated these concerns. A 2014 Legal and Justice Sector Baseline Study highlighted inadequate procedural rules, low public trust, inefficient justice delivery, and high costs. A 2017 UNDP research flagged how slow bureaucratic processes put domestic violence victims at particular risk, as they must often continue living with their abusers as cases crawl through the system, emphasising the urgent need for expedited procedures.

Niyahath, a legal expert with two decades of experience, suggested that improved coordination and communication between state institutions with overlapping mandates should be a priority. This could reduce the time needed to navigate bureaucratic red-tape that currently hinders case progression, she said. 

While acknowledging progress made through judicial reforms and nationwide awareness campaigns, she noted the uneven implementation and disparity between the capital and other islands. Island authorities might follow the letter of the law but often lacked sensitivity, leading to questions such as, "What did you do to be abused?"

"At the end of the day, everybody's interest should be vested in reducing the number of these cases, and granting the victim protection and empathy, rightfully convicting the perpetrator, rehabilitating them and reintegrating them back into society," she said.

As Justice Shujune opined, those closest to the case were more understanding of Nazaha's reaction. The family empathised with Nazaha's circumstances and have long since forgiven her for Shahid's death, his son said. All but one of Shahid's kin, including his mother, rejected the death penalty for Nazaha and refused to claim blood money. 

"When I first heard that my dad was stabbed, I didn't know he had passed away. But even when it hit me that he actually died, I never blamed her. I don't remember ever blaming her for that," said Nazaha’s stepson.

"What happened was unfortunate and how it ended was devastating for both families. Growing up I always wished I had a father to teach me about life, and I know all of my younger brothers would feel the same. It was always a bitter reality not to see his face in the crowd through any of my achievements, but I would never put that on her," he added.

"It is not fair for her to grow old without seeing her son grow up. And it's not fair for my little brother to grow up completely estranged from his mother." 

After 15 years in prison, Shahid’s son believes that Nazaha deserves a presidential pardon.

Niyahath strongly agreed. "This is the exact kind of case that deserves a presidential pardon. And she's the ideal defendant who deserves empathy and consideration from the state and the president as well," she said.

During the previous administration, former president Ibrahim Mohamed Solih exercised his clemency powers to commute Nazaha's life sentence to 20 years. But without a presidential pardon, she must still serve five more years.

Nonetheless, her lawyer refuse to give up the fight. The legal team is exploring other avenues and discussing how to proceed, Nihayath said.

“The more people talk about this, the more support we can gain. This isn’t a case of a person just killing someone. There are many underlying causes on how it got to this point, and people need to know and understand this side of it and sympathise with it," she said.

"That would make it easier for decision-makers to come to a decision, for that decision to stick and the general public to accept it.”