QUIET… a sound came from the crowd during the gunfire.
“No abuse, only bullet.” Six bullets tore through the young woman’s body and twice that number through the man’s. They loved, lived and were killed following an accusation of karokari. Another episode of honour killing thus jolted not only Balochistan but the entire country. Honour killing in the country has taken a shape of collective tragedy, one that squashes not only human dignity but also violates the sacred emotion of love. Dozens of men and women are murdered each year simply for following their inner voice to love and marry someone, rebelling the rigid boundaries of their tribes, sects or families. Yet this tragedy is not new, but in patriarchal society of Pakistan, ghairat, the loaded symbol of honour, has long been brandished as a euphemism for ownership and a weapon to regulate, silence and ultimately erase lives. Moreover, by transforming murder into a culturally sanctioned ritual, patriarchal society normalize the act of honour killing, masking violence as virtue and control as tradition. We have passed down the folk-tales of star-crossed lovers – Heer Ranjha, Mirza Sahiba, Sohni Mahiwal, Sassi Punnun and Laila Majnun, bearing witness to a painful truth that love in our culture has always grown in rebelliousness of the powerful cultural chains. Love has immortalized them, their tales etched into time, but the enemies of love are forgotten.
This is exactly what happened with Bano Satakzai and Ehsan Samalani (initially reported as Sheetal and Zarak) in Balochistan, who loved and dreamt to live together, but the so-called tribal honour, the family’s suffocating pride and the Jirga’s brutal verdict shattered their dreams by shooting them dead. Once again Jirga, though failed in answering the question, Bano posed while holding Quran in her hand, “what wrong did I commit? I used my right”, remained successful through its weapon of language – ghairat, haram and izzat, invoked not to uphold morality, but to silence, shame and ultimately kill. By sidelining both police and courts, Jirga’s de facto authority in B-areas of Balochistan served as another powerful mechanism to oppress the couple. Bano declared in front of Jirga that she married of her choice, not committed Zina. While the Jirga was plotting their execution, Bano further made a plea: “Only the bullet – nothing else”. This simple request for a swift death has layers of haunting commentary on gendered violence, systemic cruelty and dehumanization of human bodies. ‘Only the bullet’ also echoes through history to authenticate centuries old persecution under which love continues to be criminalized and executed. Moreover, her words are not surrender, but a protest etched into the silence of death.
Following this incident, the Honorable Chief Justice of the Balochistan High Court, Mr. Justice Rozi Khan took notice. Meanwhile, the political leaders also emphasized in their statements that justice must prevail through legal means. While this reflects a commitment to the rule of law, such statements risk becoming hollow if not backed by concrete action. In this context, Chief Minister Sarfraz Bugti’s sweeping statements labeling Bano “mother of five” “not married to Ehsan” or an alleged reason of “Karokari” designate a shrewd attempt to invalidate the case. There is growing concern that this case, like many other cases in Pakistan, will also be reduced to mere rhetorical condemnation.
There was Qandeel Baloch, killed by her own brother, simply because she desired to live with her own voice, identity and truth. There were Samia Sarwar, Farzana Parveen and Samia Shahid, who chose to love and exercise the right to marry of their choices but paid the price with their lives. In all these cases, honour is intrinsically connected to female autonomy, with violence used as a tool to suppress women’s choices in both public and private spheres.
In 2016, Pakistan passed a law against honour killing, mandating capital punishment or life imprisonment for the offenders. However, the burial of such cases under forgiveness or concealed settlements due to tribal pressure remains a bitter fact. The tribal communities bury the stories of honour killing, endorsing or silently accepting honour-based violence as part of their tradition. There is no room for love on this land, because hatred is safeguarded by the local customs and glorified by (mis-)using religion as a tool. The patriarchal culture continues to embody the paradox that the marriage of choice is branded as a rebellion and silence hangs heavy over the decrees of tribal jirgas.
Defying this inhumanity, it is time to stand with Bano and Ehsan, so that we stand with the right to choose and against the patriarchal double standards. Society must no longer surrender to collective amnesia. Instead, it must stand with love and rise against hatred, terror and violence. The tribal communities, too, must confront systemic oppression by challenging the brutal cultural practices that sustain gendered terrorism. This is no longer a choice but a pressing necessity, because if we bury love today, tomorrow we will unearth only corpses. The State also must abandon its double standards and make a choice: will it surrender to the silence of bullets, or rise and fulfil its duty to justice?
—The writer is a feminist researcher, activist and academic currently serving in the department of English Literature at Government College University Faisalabad.
