In the name of honour: Today, we grieve. We grieve not just a woman—we grieve someone who became a symbol of courage, honour and dignity. A woman who dared to love in a place that wouldn’t even let her dream. She believed in taking a stand for her right to live, to feel, and to be human. She died with the nation’s respect, but I question, why did she have to die at all?
Balochistan witnessed yet another brutal silencing of a woman, a murder so tragic. Done in the name of honour, in the name of tradition and culture, by misogynist men who believed they had the right to decide a woman’s life. Who believed her life didn’t, but it did. It does.
In a viral video, we found out that in June 2025, Bano Bibi and her husband, Hassan Ullah, were executed, not because they committed any crime but because they got married without approval from the tribe. Bano was shot seven times, while her husband was shot nine. It was done by none other than Bano’s own brother. I keep wondering: did his hands not tremble? Does he have no regrets? Did he not experience flashbacks of all the memories he must’ve had with Bano from childhood to that moment?
In the name of honour
As a nation, we should be ashamed that we let this happen. Ashamed that we still think a woman is not allowed to love. Ashamed to think a woman who loves brings disgrace and dishonour. Ashamed that killers are protected in the name of religion and culture. The Ashamed that as Muslims, where the Qur’an clearly commands men to protect, respect, and treat women with kindness, these are the men of our nation.
This tragedy is not an isolated crime; it is part of a system that has been going on for generations. Today, we demand justice. We demand the tradition of “karo-kari” to be banned completely. We demand this for every woman who has lost her life like this. We demand a future where women aren’t punished for love. We demand a future where women no longer need to exhibit bravery in order to survive. Where being a daughter, a sister, or a wife doesn’t come with traditions written in blood.
If we don’t raise our voices now, we are as involved in this crime as the killers. If we don’t scream for justice, we are part of the system that kills. We can’t afford to lose more women. Not now. Not ever. Not to shame, not to this twisted idea of honour that only demands a woman’s blood. We must fight until we win. We must use our voices to protect those who are forced to stay silent. We must do something, or we are no better. Let the present be the last time we mourn someone this way, the last article we write about cruelty like this. Let this be the time we change our laws, our mindset and our choice to stay quiet.