I am not in Pakistan but as a woman I don’t feel safe

Social media has risen in support yet authorities are ‘rationalising rape’

It appears as though Pakistani society is made up of extremes. One extreme that blames the victim for ‘enabling’ rape, and another extreme, that is blindly calling for public execution of death penalty for rapists. Caught in the midst is the woman who has been wronged, children who witnessed such brutality, and scores of women whose paranoia regarding the safety of public spaces has soared to greater heights.

On September 10, two ‘robbers’ raped a woman on the Lahore-Sialkot motorway while she was waiting for help after her car developed a fault. The motorway police remained absent from the scene whereas victim-blaming remarks from Capital City Police Officer (CCPO) Lahore Umar Shaikh added fuel to fire — exactly one day after the prime minister marched full throttle in his support and let go an inspector general from the provincial police force.

Where do we stand now? In a country that has its hands full with political point-scoring, is knee-deep in lawlessness, and where counter narratives against women abound. Former federal minister and close aide of the prime minister, Asad Umar, on national television, questioned if the CCPO should be punished “solely on the basis of his negative comment”. Next in line was PM’s advisor on accountability, Shahzad Akbar, who served as the CCPO’s mouthpiece—indirectly making a ramshackle effort at justifying or downplaying the outrageous remarks.

Add to that, absolutely no mercy for the survivor.

But that’s what’s convenient. Pin blame on the survivor for stepping out in the dark of the night and shout this out on national television in a society that has witnessed Khadija Siddiqui and the likes being stabbed 23 times in broad daylight.

If you have spent long enough on social media, you will also witness trolls garner sympathy for the so-called culprits by shifting focus on the attire of the woman and her sheer callousness for not having ‘enough petrol’ before she hit the motorway.

Meanwhile, notoriously venal security personnel and members of civil society offered a manual on ‘how must women remain safe’ with little regard for the sentiments of those affected. It appears as though Pakistan is not just inching towards extremism but displaying signs of narcissism and sadism all the same.

Earlier in September, a five-year-old girl was raped and burned to death in Karachi. Let that sink in. How deeply troubled does one have to be to commit a heinous crime and then shut the door on forensics?

A similar incident of an 11-year-old girl being raped by her father surfaced in June. Two incidents of minors being raped and murdered in Nowshera made headlines this year. One can only imagine how many cases go unreported.

Whether it’s the Aurat March, the #metoo movement or the rubble of rape and murder incidents, only a miniscule percentage of men feel ashamed for sharing a gender with such debauchees. In fact, there’s a regressive pattern to how Pakistan grapples with such news.

An explosive news story about violence against a woman comes out. A group of apologists then get together and turn social media into a vile, frightening place. They berate the victim and hurl remarks at her family. On occasion, extremists join the troll group. Somehow, the culprit becomes the center of attention and subject of empathy. Meanwhile, authorities offer reassurances, one after the other, but don’t follow through. The wave dies down. Hashtags get old.

The pattern continues. The anxiety permeates through cyberspace. More rapes are rationalised. More women are killed. Twitter is the most toxic on some days; and fingers are pointed at the victim. But here’s what’s shockingly omitted: no one in power even hangs their heads in shame and silence to apologise about just how much they have failed.

I am not in Pakistan but as a woman I don’t feel safe.