The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan’s new fact-finding report on Punjab’s Crime Control Department (CCD) lands at an awkward moment for the provincial government. As it claims credit for breaking up major criminal networks, the country’s most credible rights monitor is documenting a pattern that looks less like policing and more like policy. Between mid-April and mid-December 2025, HRCP tracked at least 670 CCD-led encounters across Punjab, with 924 suspects killed and two police personnel dead.
The civil society, thus, sees a dark pattern. When a specialised force produces such a lopsided casualty ratio, the burden shifts to the state to show, case by case, that the deaths were unavoidable, legally defensible, and investigated in a manner that would survive judicial scrutiny. HRCP’s contention is that the safeguards are not visible. It says encounter reports often follow a repetitive script, independent witnesses are absent, and mandatory procedural checks are inconsistently observed.
The provincial authorities insist the story is simpler. In January, Punjab Police told the Lahore High Court that allegations of “fake encounters” were unfounded and that crime had fallen sharply since the CCD’s formation. That the CCD is not a rogue outfit operating in a legal vacuum cannot be denied. Its powers and internal command architecture were written into law through amendments to the Police Order, including authority for the CCD’s head to issue standing orders for direction and control.
Punjab’s leadership will argue that citizens want safety. They do. In a province where extortion, kidnapping, and armed robberies are becoming undeniable realities, the appeal of a hard unit that delivers results is real, and the political incentives to showcase swift results are obvious. Yet even a genuine crime decline does not legally sanitise how it is achieved. The state cannot outsource conviction to the gun because prosecution is slow, witnesses are scared, or investigations are weak. It has to fix those institutions, not route around them.
This dilemma is not new. In Karachi, after the 2018 Naqeebullah Mehsud case, public outrage drove encounter killings way down. Even then, proponents said hard-nosed tactics were necessary, and it was only after courts intervened that the operation reoriented toward prosecutions.
The next chapter lies with oversight. Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz has publicly pressed for a cultural reset within Punjab’s police, ordering the mandatory rollout of body-worn cameras, and directing that the force shed its rude, intimidating habits in favour of dignity and professionalism. If the Punjab government truly believes these outcomes are justified, it should voluntarily invite an independent review. Indeed, the HRCP report explicitly calls for a judicial inquiry into the encounter killings. Granting that, far from an admission of guilt, would be a strong sign. It would either vindicate the CCD or highlight problems to fix.
This debate is not anti-police. It is pro-policing, in the only sense that matters in a constitutional state: policing that is professionally lethal only when unavoidable, and institutionally constrained every day.
