Permission to report an intellectual emergency! A retired captain has opened another front, this time against a four-word slogan. The battlefield is a religious gathering, the ammunition theology, the enemy a woman claiming authority over her body. Left, right, left! Unfortunately, logic appears to have fallen out of formation. At a recent Khatm-e-Nabuwwat conference in Chenab Nagar, the gentleman reportedly discovered a devastating argument against Mera Jism Meri Marzi: if a woman claims her body is hers, why can she not cure herself when cancer strikes? Bravo, Captain! Medical science has been outflanked. Feminist philosophy has surrendered. Oncology must report to the nearest parade ground. By this reasoning, a homeowner should never suffer an earthquake, and a politician should never lose an election. The joke confuses bodily autonomy with biological omnipotence. Autonomy concerns consent, medical decisions and freedom from coercion, not command over every cell.
Cancer does not annul a woman’s agency; it makes her dignity and right to informed care more urgent. Kant insisted that people must be treated as ends, never merely as instruments. Turning women’s suffering into material for public ridicule while preaching morality is a curious religious accomplishment. Inspired by Colonel Ashfaq Hussain’s parade-ground humour, I propose two titles for the Captain’s latest contribution to public discourse: Gentleman, Ittaqillah! Fear God, Captain, before turning cancer patients into props for your argument, or Gentleman, Nauzbillah! May God protect us from mistaking a microphone and theological certainty for moral reasoning.
Here my confusion deepens. How did a Khatm-e-Nabuwwat gathering become a refresher course in religious labelling and a venue for ridiculing feminism through a cancer joke? Does such rhetoric strengthen faith, or merely remind international observers of the insecurity facing Pakistan’s Ahmadi community? One may uphold the finality of Prophethood without targeting religious minorities or policing women’s autonomy. Conviction does not require cruelty. And our confused Captain, fresh from the bar-election controversy, reportedly found time to dismiss his opponents as the remnants of an “accursed” Asma Jahangir. She devoted her life to defending women, religious minorities, political prisoners and constitutional liberties. Her legacy rests on those principles, not on religious insults or speculation about her faith. Some defend humanity; others disparage its defenders. Little reasoning, maximum noise.
Simone de Beauvoir examined how women become the Other when men’s authority is treated as nature. Judith Butler’s work on bodily vulnerability asks whose lives receive recognition and protection. Neither of them mistakes vulnerability for permission to rule another person. Our gentleman offers a convenient amendment: because women suffer, men should apparently speak for them. Patriarchy has rarely completed its circular reasoning so efficiently. Divine sovereignty, incidentally, is not a politician’s power of attorney over a woman’s body. From the 111 Brigade through civil-service corridors to politics, the Captain has changed professions. His words today are those of a politician, and the contradiction they expose extends well beyond him: women are praised for enduring pain, then ridiculed for demanding choices. Within his political family, Punjab’s Chief Minister has publicly acknowledged women’s silent battles and invisible wounds.
This public contrast raises a question for governance, too: does celebrated empowerment change who holds power? Pink police vans and other schemes may deliver useful services. Yet the political spectacle is irresistible – vehicles acquire colours, programmes acquire cards, institutions acquire uniforms, and empowerment acquires an advertising budget. One almost expects patriarchy to arrive in a pink van, distribute a card and announce its own abolition. Colour is not equality; publicity is not justice. A woman reporting harassment needs a responsive investigation, not merely a photogenic launch. Women require fair professional opportunities, bodily security, equal treatment under law and the freedom to challenge decisions. A woman in high office can contest patriarchy or reproduce it; representation matters, but it does not settle the question of power. Feminism is neither a family photograph nor an administrative colour palette. Our political theatre has mastered its contradictions: religious certainty for the podium, compassion in public statements and paternalism whenever women assert independence. The costumes change faster than the convictions.
Younger generations understand this political fancy-dress parade all too well. A woman claiming authority over her body is not challenging God’s sovereignty; she is challenging another human being’s claim to command her. Her consent is not a favour. Her illness is not a punchline for political applause. And you, Captain, are a politician now, not the custodian of women’s bodies or the interpreter of their suffering. Your convictions are yours to defend, but women’s autonomy is not yours to negotiate. Patriarchy may borrow the language of faith, morality or protection; none confers ownership over women. So, before delivering another sermon on women’s bodies, Captain, remember: women are not seeking your permission. They are telling you: Gentleman, stand down!
—The writer is a feminist researcher and activist. She teaches in the Department of English Literature at Government College University Faisalabad.
