THERE comes a time in the history of nations when silence becomes a crime and complicity, a sin.
Pakistan, founded on the patronizing ideals of justice, dignity and equality, today finds itself shackled not by foreign powers but by the rot within, barbaric customs parading as culture, ancient bigotry wrapped in modern cowardice and violence disguised as honour.
The tragic viral video from Balochistan, showing the cold-blooded murder of a couple, dragged into a desert and executed without remorse, stands not just as evidence of a heinous act, but as a mirror to the waning of civic conscience. In this desolate silence of the desert, two lives were extinguished, but with them, a larger truth screamed for recognition that Pakistan is losing its humanity to a culture that reveres the tribe above the law and misplaced honour above life itself.
This is not an isolated incident. From the arid stretches of Balochistan to the feudal lands of Sindh, from the remote tribal belts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa to parts of South Punjab, a parallel system of authority thrives, one that neither fears the Constitution nor respects the teachings of Islam. The Jirga system, inherited from centuries of tribal patriarchy, continues to adjudicate matters of life and death. In these makeshift courts, any act of personal choice that challenges tribal norms is not merely viewed as defiance, it is treated as a punishable offense, often with fatal consequences. In 2024 alone, as per Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), at least 346 people, majority of them women were murdered in the name of ‘honour’. These are only the documented cases. Many others are silenced in villages that have no police presence, no journalists and no mobile signals, only guns, power and silence.
The Constitution of Pakistan stands as a solemn promise to all citizens, a commitment to dignity, equality and justice. Article 9 guarantees the right to life and liberty, declaring that no person shall be deprived of life or liberty save in accordance with law. Article 25 further affirms that all citizens are equal before the law and are entitled to equal protection of law, without discrimination based on gender. These are not aspirational statements, they are binding legal obligations. Yet despite these assurances, reality continues to betray the spirit of the Constitution. For many, particularly women, these guarantees remain distant. Acts of violence committed in the name of ‘honour’ persist with tragic regularity, exposing a deep rift between what the law promises and what society permits.
Amid such harrowing circumstances, the state’s recent decision to register a criminal case independently of the victims’ families marks a vital shift. It signals that justice is not conditional on familial consent or social norms. By becoming the complainant, the state reclaims its constitutional responsibility: to protect life, ensure equality and act where silence prevails. This is not merely a procedural development, it is a necessary affirmation of the rule of law.
However, meaningful change cannot rely on symbolic gestures alone. Legal guarantees are ineffective without enforcement. To bring constitutional ideals into daily practice, systemic reform is essential. This includes institutional consistency, rigorous documentation and judicial accountability. Local law enforcement must be equipped, trained and protected against external pressures. Human rights education should be embedded in public service training, not as rhetoric, but as principle.
We must recognize this as a battle for Pakistan. While the world progresses towards justice and equality, we remain ensnared in customs that punish rather than protect. An individual’s right to make personal choices, whether in marriage, belief or way of life is still seen by some as a crime rather than a right.
This is not the reflection of a confident Islamic republic, it is the stain of a society adrift from its moral and constitutional compass. To reclaim our dignity as a nation, we must redefine honour, not as the capacity to take life, but as the courage to uphold it. Honour lies in justice, not vengeance, in protecting the vulnerable, not silencing them. True bravery is not in wielding violence, but in standing for the law, even when it defies tradition. And true Islam is not found in fear and retribution, but in compassion, mercy and justice for all.
This is more than a social dilemma, it is a constitutional crisis and above all, a test of national conscience. Unless we confront and dismantle the toxic beliefs that cloak violence in sanctity, Pakistan will remain behind, not just globally, but behind its own promise. The deserts where innocents lie buried will continue to echo with the silence of a country that refused to act. But change is still within reach, if we uphold the Constitution in both letter and spirit, build institutions anchored in justice and teach future generations that human dignity is sacred and inviolable. When we choose to protect rather than punish, to empower rather than silence, then perhaps one day, the sands will no longer witness bloodshed, but bear witness to a nation that rose above fear and tradition and chose conscience, justice and humanity as its lasting legacy.
—The writer is PhD in Political Science and visiting faculty at QAU Islamabad. His area of specialization is political development and social change.
