A Pakistani man living in the suburbs of Atlanta was recently arrested for allegedly strangling his daughter to death. She wanted out of an arranged marriage.

Two years ago, a Pakistani relative of ours living in Virginia rushed into marriage to escape the severity of her father's rule. Unfortunately, she escaped one form of abuse only to jump into another. After a year of physical violence, she filed for divorce from her Pakistani husband.

And just a few days ago, the frantic Pakistani parents of a 23-year-old woman contacted our father because their daughter never returned from a jog in their Washington, D.C., suburb. The next day, the daughter e-mailed the police. She had run away.

We are increasingly hearing stories about tyrannical Pakistani family members, especially fathers and husbands. We used to think these examples were mostly confined to Pakistan, but now we hear of such cases in the U.S. It is easy to see these acts of human rights abuses as being representative of Pakistan. After all, the country has a reputation for being an unenlightened, unprogressive Islamic nation, and this reputation surely reflects upon those Pakistanis living here.

But as first-generation Pakistani-American women, these stories do not reflect our family's experience. When our parents left Lahore, first for Britain and then for the U.S., our father wanted nothing more than for his daughters to flourish with the tremendous educational and career opportunities available in the U.S. and, above all else, have the freedom to embrace the best of both worlds —- the Pakistan he knew and the America he dreamed of. We are certainly lucky to have such a father, but we are also not alone. Even back in Pakistan, the picture is more complicated and ultimately offers reason for hope.

On our last trip there, clad in shalwar kamezes (traditional dress in South Asia), we saw a country divided. There are wide pockets of fundamentalist Muslim culture that deny women educational opportunities, financial independence and even basic social and political liberties. This Pakistan dictates whom women speak with, where women go and what women wear.

But there is also the more deeply rooted tradition of reverence and respect for women. Elder women are the alphas —- the heads of households and villages, making the major decisions, controlling the finances. In the cities, women hold high positions in government. Women are physicians, lawyers, artists, musicians and engineers. They dress in lovely and often stunningly revealing saris. They drive around on motorcycles and take karate classes.

The same division in the way Pakistani women live is apparent in the U.S. Our own experience is shared by countless Pakistani-Americans. Other women, however, are not so fortunate.

Although it can sometimes paint a one-sided picture, the publicity surrounding tragedies such as the death of the young woman in Georgia creates an opportunity for recognizing the struggles of these women. The deep-seated traditions of Pakistan dictate that women should be respected and empowered. When instead they are subjugated and abused, they are failed not just by their families, but also by the culture itself.

> Aysha Akhtar is a neurologist in Maryland. Jabeen Akhtar is a writer in Washington, D.C. Sahar Akhtar is a professor of philosophy at the University of Virginia. They are sisters.