The sacrosanctity of gendered state intervention

Recently, in DI Khan, a 16-year-old girl called Sharifia bibi was paraded naked, beaten and then forced to walk home naked as a revenge punishment for an alleged wrong carried out by her brother. An informal body of men, the village Jirga (which the Supreme Court of Pakistan has found to be an unlawful body), handed down and sanctioned this punishment. The obvious question is how can it be just for a 16 year-old girl, a child, to be punished for an alleged wrong carried out by her brother? This unlawful decision by an unlawful body was executed in record time and men in large numbers came out to watch the punishment. One need not speculate as to the type of man that would watch such a demeaning punishment for a young girl. Where was their moral compass? Were their religious values forgotten? The only thing fully heightened, it seems, were their depraved senses.

The tragic case raises some fundamental questions on the role of the state in tackling gender-based violence in Pakistan. Some of these fundamental questions are: where were the state institutions when the local Jirga gathered? Similarly, where were the state institutions when the Jirga made its inhuman and degrading decision and the local henchmen carried it out? In particular, when the punishment was being carried out where was the local police? Did they conclude with the Jirga? In addition, who or what government agencies exist to assist survivors of gender violence? While government helplines do exist to report such incidents to, they are not sufficiently well publicised and the vast majority of women are unaware of their existence. Unfortunately, there is no coordinated state system that is able to respond and support survivors of such violence.

Sharfia bibi is only one example of unknown number of such incidents. Deeply regrettably, there are no official figures that reveal the full extent of violence against women and girls in Pakistan, nor on the various forms and manifestations in which it is found. All we have to rely on are unofficial figures and estimates. According to an Aurat Foundation 2012 report, four women are murdered and six kidnapped every day in Pakistan. The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan estimates that there is one rape every two hours in Pakistan. A Thomson Reuters Foundation Poll reveals that 90% of women in Pakistan are subjected to domestic violence at least once in their lives. Although these disturbing figures are estimates extrapolated from reported cases, unreported incidents of violence are believed by gender experts and activists to be much higher. It is also widely recognised that violence manifests itself in multi-layered and multi-dimensional forms in Pakistan, often disguised under religion and cultural values. These acts of violence can range from ‘honour crimes’ and rape to psychological and economic abuse of women and girls.

The Jirga’s decision in the Sharifa bibi’s incident brings into sharp focus some of the wider social issues in Pakistan that provide the space for the public humiliation of women and girls. It needs to be understood that such blatant discrimination is founded on society’s patriarchal construct and on the fact we view violence as an inherently private matter, which is not subject to public scrutiny. It is the patriarchal structure that has bred and maintained the powerful position of men (and in turn the powerlessness of women) and hence the structure endorses inequality, discrimination and violence. Patriarchy has also encouraged a violent and ugly form of masculinity, accepted as the only way to be a real man in Pakistan. Although women and girls face discrimination and often violence, across all socio-economic groups, how they view and react to this discrimination and violence is based on factors beyond gender, such as class, education and economic independence. This is why, in spite of the absence of any support from the state, there are women who have risen despite adversity in Pakistan.

This situation is compounded by the fact that the Pakistani society and the state views violence against women and girls as a private matter and not as a violation of a fundamental human right, nor as a collective responsibility. In fact, it is widely argued that the violation lies not in the act of violence by the perpetrator but in outside interference in private matters of a family — regardless of the nature and severity of a crime that may be taking place behind closed doors. The police are reluctant to intervene because it will violate a man’s home, his ‘honour’, his private space. The police may get involved in some limited way to resolve the dispute outside of formal mechanisms.

Yet, even if one was to rely solely on just those cases of violence that have either been made reported or come to the public’s attention, the prevalence, severity and acceptance of violence against women and girls shows that the issue is not a private one — it is political and requires a robust political response. This means a state-led response, which involves institutional reform and socially transformative initiatives. This also means the state must intervene beyond just the making and passing of legislation. In the past decade, successive governments have passed many pro-women laws, ranging from anti-women practices, sexual harassment, rape and ‘honour’ crimes. What is required now is that when a wrong has been committed the state takes notice, becomes a party to court proceedings — that the heir of the victim in cases of ‘honour’ is the state, as already provided for by the penal code since 2006. Where is our response policy on violence-related matters? The government has only once been involved in an ‘honour crime’ case when it became the heir in the case of Qandeel Baloch.

Yet this is only talk about state intervention after the crime has been committed. Prevention, in terms of policy and large-scale programmes is one of the greatest interventions the state can make. As women and girls, we need the state to stand by us when an injustice has taken place, but also to intervene before it has taken place. A robust, inclusive and intersectional state prevention policy is desperately needed — one that interacts with families and women, girls, men and boys at all levels. The state must also dispel the notion that this sort of intervention is against religion or against men. Dialogue — scholarly, continuous and meaningful — at the highest levels of the state apparatus is missing and we must ask ourselves why? If the state says the political will is not lacking, then what is?

Creating legal frameworks are no doubt imperative and necessary, yet they are only the first step of a state’s responsibility towards its female citizens. Beyond law making, gendered state intervention is sacrosanct to make real change happen. For now, in the faces and stories of Sharifa bibi and others like her, the State of Pakistan is systemically failing its women and girls.

Published in The Express Tribune, December 3^rd, 2017.

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