It's autumn in the mountain town of Qala Dzye, in the Kurdish region of northern Iraq - and the wedding season is coming to an end. To the accompaniment of stirring accordion music, the bride and groom take part in traditional celebration dances. Marriage for most Kurdish brides promises freedom and respectability. But for others, it can bring isolation, cruelty and even death. The Kurds have been in conflict with their three powerful neighbours - Iran, Turkey and Iraq - for the last 80 years. Thousands of villages were destroyed and families forced into crowded collective towns and refugee camps. This has changed the very fabric of Kurdish society, unleashing a chain of violence - often against women. This week's Life explores how Kurdish women are working to stop the violence - and change the law which encourages it.

A former doctor, Nasik gave up her career to run a shelter for women living under threat of death from their families. "Till now," she says, "hundreds of women have been killed in Iraqi Kurdistan simply because they fell in love, or because they demanded their basic rights - such as the right to divorce or to be treated as a human being, to go outdoors, to be free to talk to other men." Nasik works for the Independent Women's Organisation - IWO - the most radical and outspoken women's group.

Tara is one of the women at the shelter who fell in love. When she eloped with her fiancé, across the border to Iran to get married, her family threatened to kill her if she ever came back. Eight years later they decided that it was safe to return to her husband's village together with their two children. Even though money had been paid to Tara's family as compensation they received a visit in the middle of the night. Tara's husband was killed and Tara and her son were seriously wounded. Tara cannot forgive her family, and refuses to drop the charges against her brothers. So she has had to come and live in the IWO shelter.

How can men treat their daughters and sisters like this? "This a very heavily male-dominated society, a condition that is deeply rooted and reinforced everyday within the family and the society itself," says Nasik. She says religion is also to blame. But the Mullah at the main mosque in Sulaimani maintains that "Islam gives a lot of rights and respect to women . . . unfortunately people are not following the rules of Islam."

Beyan is a senior woman lawyer fighting to change the laws on justice for women. "A lot of people treat honour like capital," she explains, "and for them, their capital is women and should be guarded closely . . . We have many laws which need revising. All the laws have been made by men and are very biased towards men."

Nasik is visiting the burns unit in Sulaimani Hospital. Women who can no longer face the pressure from husbands or in-laws in arranged marriages attempt suicide by dowsing themselves in kerosene and setting themselves alight. A hundred and fifty five women died of their burns last year in Sulaimani alone. Some survive: 17-year-old Naz is badly burnt because she set herself alight after being tormented by her husband and in-laws.

The problems are made worse by widespread female illiteracy. Another women's group, Zhinan, is running literacy classes, health clinics and technical training workshops. Rubar, a Zhinan teacher, says: "Before they came to classes they stayed at home within their four walls. They were unable to go out and meet people. They were ignorant of many aspects of normal social life. They learnt from us and from each other, even travelling to class opened their minds." But even Rubar is still unable to talk to men easily. "Since we were children we were always repressed - taught to submit - constantly warned to stay away from boys . . . It's still deep inside us even though we are now adults. I am a teacher and I am still afraid."

Ironically, one area of Kurdish life where women are most free is in the government-backed Peshmerga Force of women soldiers. Thirty-one year Rezan, their commander, spent two years in Iraqi prisons, and lost both her brother and fiancé to Saddam Hussein's forces. Now she teaches her young recruits to stand up for their rights. "Young women should be active players in tomorrow's society," she says. "I teach them how to look after themselves . . . there should be no discrimination."

In April this year, the Iraqi law which gave men a lesser sentence for honour killings was finally abolished - an important achievement for the women's lobby and a cause for hope in the future.

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