When Will Pakistan Stop Failing Its Women?

There is something deeply rotten in a society where a woman has to think twice before walking alone, travelling alone, speaking against an abusive man, rejecting a marriage proposal, or simply saying no.

Pakistan has a serious problem with violence against women. Rape, domestic abuse, honor killings, acid attacks, harassment, forced marriages, stalking and sexual violence are not isolated incidents appearing randomly in the news. They are symptoms of a much larger disease: a society in which too many men believe that a woman's body, choices and dignity are things they are entitled to control.

And the most disturbing part is not simply that these crimes happen. It is that they keep happening. Then we argue about them for a few days. Then social media moves on. Then another woman is attacked.

And the cycle begins again.

A problem older than today's headlines

Violence against women in Pakistan did not begin with smartphones, social media or the internet. Its roots stretch deep into the country's social and institutional history.

For decades, women have been subjected to practices such as forced marriages, child marriages, exchange marriages, honor-based violence, domestic abuse and denial of inheritance. In some communities, informal councils and powerful families have historically exercised enormous influence over women's lives, sometimes treating marriage, divorce and even a woman's freedom as matters to be decided by men.

The language used to justify this violence is often different, but the underlying idea is remarkably similar:

"She belongs to us."

That mentality is the real enemy.

Pakistan's legal system has gradually moved away from many of these attitudes. The Protection of Women (Criminal Laws Amendment) Act 2006 removed rape from the ambit of the Hudood Ordinances and placed it within the ordinary criminal-law framework. The law provides severe punishment for rape, including lengthy imprisonment and, in specified circumstances, the death penalty.

Further legislation followed. The Protection against Harassment of Women at the Workplace Act 2010, the Prevention of Anti-Women Practices Act 2011 and provincial laws dealing with domestic violence were important steps. Punjab's 2016 law, for example, recognizes domestic, sexual, psychological and economic abuse, stalking and cyber violence and provides mechanisms for protection orders.

Then came the Anti-Rape (Investigation and Trial) Act 2021, designed to improve investigation, prosecution and survivor support. It introduced specialized structures, Anti-Rape Crisis Cells and procedures intended to make the justice process faster and more survivor-centred. It also prohibited the degrading "two-finger test" in rape investigations.

So the question is no longer simply:

"Does Pakistan have laws?"

Pakistan has laws.

The question is:

Why are women still so frequently failed despite those laws?

The law means little if justice never arrives

A law written on paper cannot protect a woman standing in front of an abusive husband.

It cannot stop a rapist if the police refuse to register the case. It cannot comfort a survivor if her family tells her to remain silent because "people will talk." It cannot bring justice if evidence is mishandled, investigations are delayed and trials drag on for years.

And it certainly cannot work if powerful people can manipulate the system.

This is where Pakistan's real crisis lies.

Officially, rape carries extremely serious penalties. Yet reports have repeatedly highlighted the gap between legislation and enforcement, with prosecutions historically remaining rare despite the frequency of sexual violence.

That gap destroys public confidence.

A criminal who believes that there is a good chance of escaping punishment has already been given a form of permission.

The numbers we see may only be the beginning

One of the biggest mistakes is assuming that the cases appearing in newspapers represent the full scale of the problem.

They do not.

Many women never report sexual violence. Some are threatened. Some are financially dependent on the perpetrator. Some fear being killed by their own families. Some fear divorce. Some fear being labelled "characterless." Some are children who do not even understand how to seek help.

Others are pressured into withdrawing complaints.

And some never survive long enough to tell their story.

Recent reporting has highlighted exactly this problem. In 2026, senior medical and law-enforcement voices in Karachi described a disturbing level of hidden violence, with cases being concealed, misreported or never reported at all.

That means statistics must be treated cautiously.

A rise in reported cases can sometimes mean more crime, but it can also mean that more victims are finally finding the courage or opportunity to report.

Conversely, a low number can be extremely misleading.

Silence is not evidence that violence does not exist.

Sometimes silence is evidence that victims have been successfully frightened into it.

Honor has become an excuse for murder

Few phrases are more dangerously abused in Pakistan than the word "honor."

What honor exists in murdering your daughter? What honor exists in strangling your sister? What honor exists in killing a woman because she chose the person she wanted to marry?

Yet honor is repeatedly invoked to disguise control, revenge, jealousy and patriarchy.

The scale remains horrifying. The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan reported at least 405 women killed in so-called honor killings in 2024, compared with 226 in 2023. More recent reporting citing HRCP figures recorded at least 470 honor killings in Pakistan in 2025, while rights groups warned that actual numbers are likely higher because many cases are hidden or misclassified.

And these are not merely "family disputes."

They are murders.

Calling them honor killings should never soften the word murder.

If a man kills a woman because she rejected him, married someone else, sought a divorce, spoke to another man, posted something online or simply refused to obey him, the answer cannot be:

"It was a family matter."

No.

It was a crime.

Patriarchy does not always look like violence

Another uncomfortable truth is that violence does not begin with rape or murder.

It often begins much earlier. It begins when a boy is taught that crying is feminine but controlling his sister is masculine. It begins when a daughter is told that her brother can come home whenever he wants but she must explain every minute outside the house.

It begins when boys are excused for harassment with:

"Larkay hain, ghalti ho jati hai."

It begins when a woman is told to tolerate an abusive husband because divorce would "destroy the family's honor."

It begins when a victim's clothing, character and social media activity are investigated more aggressively than the accused man's behavior.

It begins when society asks a rape survivor:

"Tum wahan gayi kyun thi?"

instead of asking:

"Why did he rape you?"

This culture does not create criminals overnight.

It creates an environment in which male entitlement can grow unchecked.

Poverty is a factor, but poverty is not the explanation

It would be intellectually lazy to blame everything on poverty.

Violence against women occurs among the poor, the middle class and the wealthy.

An educated man can be an abuser. A professional can be a rapist. A respected family can hide a predator. A powerful person can exploit a vulnerable woman. Money does not automatically produce morality.

Education does not automatically produce character.

The deeper problems are power, entitlement, impunity, misogyny, weak institutions and the normalization of violence.

Economic dependence does, however, make escape much harder. A woman with no independent income may have nowhere to go after domestic abuse. A girl whose education has been stopped may have little ability to support herself. A woman who depends entirely on her family may have no realistic way to challenge the people controlling her.

Therefore, women's economic empowerment is not merely an economic issue.

It is a protection mechanism.

What about religion?

Pakistan is a Muslim-majority country, and religion is frequently dragged into discussions about women's rights.

But violence cannot be justified by simply attaching a religious label to it. Rape is not honor. Domestic violence is not masculinity. Murder is not family discipline. Humiliation is not morality and forcing a woman into silence does not make society more religious.

Pakistan must stop using religion as a shield for cultural practices that have nothing to do with justice.

If religion is invoked, it should be invoked to protect dignity, justice, life and accountability, not to provide criminals with excuses.

Social media has exposed the problem, but it can also worsen it

Social media has transformed the conversation.

Cases that might once have disappeared inside a police station can now become national scandals within hours.

That is a positive development. But social media has another ugly side. Victims are sometimes publicly identified. Private photographs are circulated. People turn sexual violence into entertainment. Comment sections become courts where strangers judge the victim's character.

A woman can be assaulted once by a criminal and then assaulted thousands of times digitally by society.

This has to stop.

The dignity of a survivor must remain protected even after the crime becomes public.

So what should Pakistan actually do?

First, stop treating rape cases like ordinary paperwork.

Police stations must have trained personnel capable of handling sexual-violence complaints professionally. Survivors should not be humiliated, discouraged or forced to repeatedly narrate traumatic experiences unnecessarily.

Second, make forensic investigation genuinely effective.

DNA evidence, medical examinations, CCTV footage, digital evidence and other forensic material must be collected quickly and professionally. Evidence lost in the first few hours can become the difference between conviction and acquittal.

Third, make trials genuinely fast.

Pakistan already created special mechanisms for rape cases through the Anti-Rape Act. The purpose of those reforms was precisely to address delays and institutional failures.

A survivor should not have to spend years waiting for justice.

Fourth, protect victims from retaliation.

Shelters, safe houses, legal aid, psychological support and financial assistance must be accessible, not merely announced in government press releases.

Fifth, punish false compromise and intimidation mechanisms that allow powerful perpetrators to escape accountability.

There is a difference between reconciliation and coercion.

A victim withdrawing a case because her family has threatened her is not justice. Sixth, educate boys, not just girls. For decades, society has told girls:

Don't go there.

Don't wear that.

Don't talk to him.

Don't come home late.

Don't post that.

Be careful.

Some of these precautions may be practically necessary in an unsafe society, but they cannot become the entire solution.

Boys must also hear:

Don't harass.

Don't stalk.

Don't touch without consent.

Don't threaten.

Don't pressure.

Don't exploit vulnerability.

And most importantly:

No means no.

Seventh, make women economically independent.

Education, employment, property rights and access to financial resources give women the ability to leave abusive environments and resist coercion.

Eighth, hold institutions accountable.

Police officers, doctors, prosecutors, judges, employers and public officials who deliberately sabotage legitimate cases should face consequences.

A system cannot protect women when the people operating it are themselves protected from accountability.

Pakistan does not need another slogan

Pakistan has produced countless campaigns, seminars, hashtags and speeches about women's safety.

But a woman does not need another seminar.

She needs to know that when she walks into a police station, someone will listen. She needs to know that if she is raped, the state will investigate. She needs to know that if she reports her husband for violence, she will not be forced back into the same house. She needs to know that if she rejects a man, he cannot legally or socially punish her for it. She needs to know that her brother, father, husband, employer or stranger does not own her.

And perhaps most importantly, society needs to understand that protecting women is not a favor being done to women.

It is the minimum responsibility of a functioning society.

The real test of Pakistan

The measure of a society is not how loudly it talks about honor.

It is how it treats the vulnerable when nobody is watching. Pakistan cannot call itself strong while women are afraid to speak. It cannot call itself just when powerful men can escape accountability. It cannot celebrate family values while families silence abused daughters. It cannot demand modesty from women while demanding no morality from men and it cannot keep blaming victims while pretending the problem is solved.

The solution will not come from one law, one police operation or one viral hashtag. It requires a complete change in attitude. Men must be taught that masculinity is not control. Families must understand that protecting reputation never justifies protecting a criminal. Police must understand that refusing to register a complaint can destroy a life. Courts must understand the urgency of sexual-violence cases. Schools must teach respect and consent. Governments must fund survivor services and ordinary citizens must stop looking away.

Because every time society says "don't make it a big issue," the criminal learns that he can do it again.

Every time a family hides abuse to protect its reputation, the perpetrator learns that reputation is more valuable than a woman's life.

Every time a victim is blamed, another victim becomes less likely to speak.

And every time justice is delayed until everyone forgets the case, the message becomes painfully clear:

The system is not afraid of the criminal. The victim is afraid of the system.

That is the situation Pakistan must change.

Not tomorrow. Not after the next horrific case.

Now.

Because women do not need promises that they will be protected someday.

They need a country in which their safety, dignity and freedom are treated as rights—not privileges.