Ayaan Arif
In Pakistan, women find their place between reverence and repression. They are hailed as the “light of the home,” yet denied the right to decide how that light should shine. The problem is not only one of inequality but of perception, a culture that glorifies womanhood in poetry and crushes it in practice.
According to the Global Gender Gap Report 2024, the World Economic Forum ranks Pakistan 145 out of 146 countries, indicating huge inequalities in education, health, political participation, and economic inclusion. UNICEF reports that nearly 47% of girls drop out before completing primary education due to early marriages, poverty, and societal restrictions. These numbers show a stark reality-that half of Pakistan’s population remains systematically excluded from opportunity.
But behind every number lies a silenced story. Domestic violence, criminalised under the Domestic Violence Prevention and Protection Act, is still everywhere. According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, almost one in every three women has faced some form of domestic abuse. In 2023 alone, more than 4,500 cases of violence against women were reported throughout the country, and these are just the recorded ones. Countless others are buried in silence, justified under the convenient label of “family honour.”
Honour-that word has shackled generations of women. According to the Aurat Foundation, approximately 1,000 women die each year at the hands of so-called honour killings, mostly by family members. The killers walk free in most cases because of loopholes in the justice system and social acceptance of such crimes. What makes this even more tragic is that these murders are not acts of rage but rituals of control-a message to every woman who dares to live freely.
Yet, the tragedy is not limited to violence. Economically, too, women constitute only 22% of the labour force, one of the lowest in South Asia, according to the Pakistan Bureau of Statistics. Even among those who work, the gender pay gap remains huge: women earn almost 34% less than men for the same jobs.
The issue is not of capability but of opportunity, not of weakness but of willful exclusion. Yet amidst the darkness, there are sparks: from Malala Yousafzai’s voice for education echoing around the world, to the appointment of Justice Ayesha Malik as the first woman judge of the Supreme Court, change is no longer a dream, but a struggle in motion. But progress cannot be left to the anomaly of exceptional individuals; it needs to become a national ethic. Laws cannot change culture alone; mindsets need to transform.
A woman just walking home at night should not be something deemed courageous; it should be normal. True reform comes when parents raise daughters to speak, not to please, and to raise sons to respect, not to rule. Women in Pakistan are not seeking favours; they are claiming their rights. And perhaps the true test of Pakistan’s progress will not be measured by its skyscrapers or GDP, but by the freedom with which a woman can learn, love, and live-unafraid.
The writer is a freelance columnist.
