Last July, Sania Zehra, a pregnant mother of two, was found hanging from a ceiling fan. Sixteen months later, a Multan court has finally handed her husband a sentence of execution under Section 302(b). The court also awarded his mother and brother life imprisonment for their role in the crime. The verdict is welcome. Sadly, the delay–and the indifference that enabled it–are devastatingly familiar. Sania’s case, horrific as it was, is only one in a maelstrom of gender violence that statesmen and citizens alike admit is out of control.
Official data laid before parliament last month shows that more than 7,500 women were murdered between 2021 and 2024, with over 1,500 killed in the name of “honour.” Even the government can no longer pretend these are small “domestic” issues. Yet despite the flood of cases, convictions remain almost unheard of. In Islamabad, a recent rights-group audit found 373 attacks on women in the first half of 2025 and zero convictions. To put that into perspective: hundreds of women walk into police stations every year, and almost none see their abusers punished.
In this bleak landscape, small acts of resistance become extraordinary. Last month in Shangla, a teenage girl managed to report her father for raping her at knifepoint, leading to his arrest. Her courage is remarkable, but it should not be so unusual. Most victims (more than half as per UN agencies) are silenced by fear, economic dependence or the expectation that their claims will be dismissed. Denial runs so deep that, in one case, a woman who reported repeated sexual assaults by her son-in-law claimed he had been possessed by a djinn, invoking a supernatural scapegoat rather than confronting a crime.
For all these ills, Pakistan has at least made some legislative strides. The National Assembly recently passed a Domestic Violence (Prevention and Protection) Bill that recognises physical, psychological, sexual and economic abuse, and promises rapid hearings and stronger penalties. It is a step forward, albeit only for the capital, and only if implemented. Pakistan has passed landmark women’s rights laws before, but without political will, even the best legislation becomes symbolic. The Supreme Court’s 2019 ban on informal jirgas, for instance, appears helpless against the karo-kari industry of the commodification of women. “Honour” killings also remain widespread despite a 2016 legal reform that removed the possibility of pardons by family members. Rights groups report around 400 such murders in 2024, and fear the real number may be closer to 1,000.
Thus, legal reform will mean little unless the state confronts the culture that normalises male violence. Police, courts and communities continue to echo misogynistic assumptions that blame victims and excuse perpetrators. Shelters remain underfunded, while specialised rape courts and gender-sensitive policing are still rare. This heart-wrenching gulf between progressive statutes and women’s everyday safety demands immediate attention. It should not need saying, but in a society where patriarchy is still treated as tradition, we can no longer hide behind platitudes.
