Every time I tell myself nothing can shock me anymore, society strikes back with a brutal slap — the kind that leaves you frozen in disbelief.
Yesterday, two young, vibrant women lost their lives in Azerbaijan.
One was Nurana Majidova, who tragically died during a paragliding accident on Beşbarmaq Mountain. The other was 24-year-old Günel Ağabəyli, brutally stabbed 19 times by her father-in-law.
Neither was a criminal, a fraud, or a threat to anyone. They were simply women pursuing their own dreams and living their lives on their own terms. And yet, both were silenced — one by a tragic accident, the other by unspeakable violence.
And what was the response?
Social media lit up, not with mourning or sympathy, but with cruel comments: “Serves them right.”
Why?
Why does a woman’s death invite mockery or judgment?
Günel’s husband stated that there were no marital problems and that they married for love. He said his father had known mental health issues. Still, society rushed to call him a liar. “He must know why she was killed,” people insist. Some women even wrote, “Why doesn’t my father-in-law kill me then?”
These aren’t anonymous trolls — they’re the people we sit beside at weddings, share tables with in cafés, pass by in supermarkets. Real people. And yet their hatred is terrifyingly casual.
Since when did extreme sports like paragliding become a sin? Why do we blame victims of tragic accidents — or worse, murder — while turning a blind eye to actual criminals?
Had the victims been men, would the reactions have been the same?
Look back to when comedian Rashad Dagli committed murder. Crowds gathered at the courthouse in support. Public sympathy poured in. But imagine, just for a moment, if a woman had committed the same crime — would society rally behind her?
In this society, when a woman is murdered, she’s blamed. Even if she defends herself, she’s still guilty. Most disturbingly, some see her death as justified.
They say, “She must not have been a good woman.” But what does that even mean?
Does a “good woman” remain silent while being beaten, insulted, stripped of her rights? Does she ask for nothing and give everything?
And if a woman is educated, independent, successful, or dares to follow her passion — is she “bad”? Are sex workers considered “bad” women too?
Yet when society interacts with such women — the very ones it condemns — the hypocrisy is clear. People flock to them, shower them with gifts, compliments, and cash. So, is this about morality? Or money?
Raising a daughter in this country is like preparing for war.
You give her love, education, support — and one day, someone takes her life with a knife. Then the same society says: “She probably deserved it.”
Parents must not only protect their daughters from the outside world, but sometimes even from their future husbands, in-laws, brothers, and yes — their own sons.
It’s no wonder that more and more Azerbaijani women are marrying foreigners. It’s not about love alone — it’s an escape. A desperate bid to breathe freely in a world that doesn’t sentence them to death by judgment.
Because here, with every passing day, the chorus of “She had it coming” grows louder.
Maybe it’s better to leave — to build a life somewhere that doesn’t punish you for being a woman.
Two angels have left us. But had they lived, imagine what beauty they could’ve brought into this world.
May they rest in peace.
