“There are women in every field now, so where is the gender disparity?”
I remember hearing these words during a visit to the Ministry of Human Rights. A high-ranking official, not an ignorant bystander or a random social media user, spoke these words. Someone trusted to understand, protect, and advocate for women. I sat there, stunned. I was not shocked because I had heard similar things before; I was shocked because this time, it came from the very institution tasked with addressing gender inequality in Pakistan.
That moment stayed with me. It was not just ignorant. It was terrifying. Because it reflected something bigger, something many believe: that visibility equals safety, that representation is enough, and that the mere presence of women in public spaces means there is no longer a problem. But the truth is this: women may be visible in Pakistan, but they are not safe. Women are not safe in their homes, schools, online, or even in courtrooms.
Take the story of Sana, a 17-year-old from Islamabad with over a million TikTok followers. On June 2, 2025, she was in her home. Somebody she had rejected burst in and shot her multiple times. She died at her home, killed in the only place where she should have felt safe. Sana did not belong to the poor class. She was from a good family. She was an independent girl. Yet she was brutally killed.
Less than six weeks after Sana’s death, another 16-year-old girl was shot dead in Rawalpindi for refusing to delete her TikTok account. The family initially reported a suicide. It took police hours to confront the truth; the girl’s father had delivered the fatal bullet himself. The girl’s phone, once a powerful tool of expression, now serves as the basis for her father’s twisted statement about family honour.
The case of a 19-year-old Arid University student, raped and killed in broad daylight by her cousin for refusing to marry him, exemplifies the lack of safety for women in Pakistan. An 11-year-old girl in Dera Ismail Khan was given as Vani, a form of compensation, for a crime determined by a local jirga. Her father begged for protection, pleading with the local authorities and his fellow community members. No one intervened. He took his life the next day. A child, bartered as though she were livestock. A father who felt he had no choice but to give up his life. The incident happened in March 2025, long after the Supreme Court banned these practices. And yet here we are…
These are not random tragedies. They are symptoms of a deeply ingrained belief that a woman’s autonomy over her body, her voice, and her choices is negotiable, and often, it is punishable by death.
Sana refused a person’s advances, which led to her death. A girl wanted her creative voice; she lost her life. The 11-year-old had her childhood stolen as compensation for a crime she did not commit. They all tried to claim their basic rights to love, to reject, to express, and to live. All they received in return was silence… and in many cases, a bullet.
According to the Pakistan Demographic and Health Survey 2017–18, jointly conducted by the National Institute of Population Studies (NIPS) and ICF under the DHS Program, nearly 28% of women aged 15–49 have experienced physical violence, while 6% reported sexual violence. Among ever-married women, 34% reported experiencing spousal abuse, whether physical, sexual, or emotional, and alarmingly, over 56% of victims never told anyone about the abuse.
On the international stage, the Global Gender Gap Report 2025 by the World Economic Forum ranked Pakistan 148th out of 148 countries, with a gender parity score of 56.7%, the country’s lowest since the index began. While female literacy improved slightly from 46.5% to 48.5%, Pakistan still lags in economic participation, health outcomes, and political empowerment, with zero women in ministerial roles. These facts shake the foundational comfort of symbolic “progress.”
Visibility becomes a distraction
Many are quick to point at the rising number of women in public service as if that presence erases systemic problems. A female SP or a woman top-ranking in the CSS becomes a shield for those who deny the depth of gender-based violence. Yet that same SP may oversee a district where a young woman was buried in honour. That top student may graduate into a workplace where harassment is commonplace and unpunished. These visible successes cannot serve as proof of safety for all women; they are exceptions wielded as excuses.
The need for real reforms
These repeated tragedies demand bold, unapologetic action, not half-hearted solutions or sympathy tweets. Here’s what actually needs to change.
- Honour killings must be unequivocally illegal
The experiences of every girl murdered or silenced demand a different national approach, such as the fact that honour killings must be unequivocally illegal. There should be no room for exceptions or pardons. Those convicted must face mandatory life sentences, preferably in fast-track courts to ensure justice is not delayed. These kinds of killings have no place in our constitution or religion. These killings are just an excuse to imply that women have no say in our lives. Her autonomy is nothing more than a tool to maintain control.
- Urgent police reform
Moreover, police reform is needed. There are many instances where police deny FIRs or provide support to victims. In many cases of domestic violence, officers tell women to solve the issue inside their home instead of reporting their husbands. Hence, officers who refuse FIRs must be punished. Gender sensitivity training should be mandatory, and its impact evaluated. Accountability must be built into law enforcement.
- State-funded shelters and legal aid
Moreover, state-funded shelters and legal aid are non-negotiable. Safe spaces can no longer be left to NGOs alone. The state must ensure anonymity, legal support, and protective protocols for survivors.
- Education and curriculum reform
And lastly, education must foster consent from a young age. Curriculum reform is essential; schools and universities must incorporate gender equality into their teaching. Media, cultural platforms, and public campaigns should challenge stagnant notions of “honour.” At a very young age, children should be taught to respect women. They should learn to see women as people, not as things to care for. They should be taught to value individuality so that they stop viewing women as sexual objects or as entities that can pollute society.
Yes, women exist in Pakistan’s universities, courtrooms, boardrooms, and media outlets. Yes, they are increasingly visible, vocal, and ambitious. That visibility is necessary but far from sufficient.
Visibility without safety is exploitation. Representation without respect is betrayal. And presence without protection is hollow. This country remains complicit in the slow murder of autonomy until visibility comes with safety, representation comes with dignity, and policies are enforced.
We may see women in high ranks, but until no woman is killed for saying ‘no’, for choosing her voice, or for simply walking away, we are nowhere near equality.