Another woman is dead. Another voice silenced. In Pakistan, a single ‘no’ is often enough to cost a woman her life.
Refusing a proposal, reporting harassment, or defending her right to say no, these simple acts can provoke consequences as severe as social exclusion, assault, or even death. While the Constitution promises equality and Islam encourages justice and respect for women, these values are rarely upheld in women’s everyday experiences.
Despite legal reforms and growing awareness, violence against women remains widespread. According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan’s 2023 report, over 500 women were killed in so-called honour-related crimes.
Behind each statistic is a life taken not for committing a crime, but for daring to choose. While laws exist to address these crimes, conviction rates remain alarmingly low — reportedly under 10% in some provinces, according to various watchdog estimates — highlighting the devastating gap between legislation and justice.
One such tragedy occurred earlier this year in Hyderabad. On March 7, 2024, Yusra Batool, a promising law student, and her brother were both shot dead by an armed attacker, who then took his own life. As reported by Dawn, the motive remains under investigation.
The case, like many others, points toward recurring patterns of gender-based violence involving control and personal entitlement. Even in the aftermath, the focus too often shifts to questions about the victim’s character rather than the actions of the man who committed the crime.
This pattern is familiar. From Noor Mukadam in Islamabad to Qandeel Baloch and Zainab Ansari, women across Pakistan continue to be punished not for crimes, but for asserting their autonomy. Each tragedy sparks brief public outrage — hashtags trend, vigils are held, and officials make promises. Yet lasting institutional reform continues to elude us.
Pakistan’s Penal Code, particularly after the passage of the Anti-Honour Killing Laws in 2016, restricts the practice of pardoning perpetrators in honour-related cases. Sections 302 and 311 now make it more difficult for families to forgive killers in exchange for settlement.
But legal reform alone is not enough. Weak enforcement, prolonged trials, and societal silence continue to shield abusers from justice. While some argue that legal protections already exist, laws without enforcement are little more than text on paper. The lived reality for many women remains unchanged: fear, blame, and vulnerability.
The problem begins at home. Girls are taught modesty, silence, and obedience; boys are rarely taught empathy, respect, or emotional responsibility. Sons are protected, daughters are policed. This imbalance festers into a culture where women are blamed for the violence committed against them, and men are rarely held accountable.
When women demand equality — whether through the Aurat March or online activism — they are branded “too bold,” “feminists,” or “troublemakers.” The very act of raising one’s voice is painted as rebellion, when it is merely a plea for basic rights: safety, dignity, and freedom. As activist Nighat Dad stated during a 2022 panel on gender justice: “In Pakistan, a woman must die to be believed.”
Public spaces, workplaces, universities, and streets are unsafe for countless women. The constant fear chips away at their confidence. Dreams are dimmed, potential is wasted, and agency is stifled — all because of unchecked male entitlement and societal complicity.
This is not just a women’s issue; it is a human issue. Families are broken, futures are lost, and society suffers when half its population lives in fear. Change cannot happen until we shift our mindset from controlling women to holding men accountable.
We need more than outrage. We need gender-sensitive education in schools, survivor-centred police protocols, and a justice system that refuses compromise in crimes against women. We need religious and community leaders to speak out clearly and consistently. And above all, we must listen — truly listen — when women speak. Their voices demand justice, not disruption. The real danger lies not in women speaking but in society’s refusal to listen.
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