Let's talk numbers. Numbers that not only lay bare violence but also a malfunctional criminal justice system that lets abusers evade justice while survivors and those who lose their lives are lost to indifference. Pakistan logged 32,617 gender-based violence (GBV) cases in 2024: 5,300 rapes, 550 honour killings, 24,000 kidnappings and 2,200 domestic violence incidents, per SSDO. These are only the cases that found their way into official records (imagine how many victims never even made it out of their homes, let alone getting past the doors of a police station).
However, the true story isn't tragically the violence itself; it's the state-sanctioned impunity. Conviction rates barely scraped the surface of justice as only 0.5% of rape and honour killing, a mere 0.1% of kidnapping and just 1.3% of domestic violence cases led to guilty verdicts. If justice is this scant, can we even call it a justice system?
These numbers aren't just data points. They stand for tens of thousands of people who suffered violence and spoke up but remained unseen like ghosts in a courtroom that refused to see them. They tell us that in Pakistan a woman can be raped, kidnapped, beaten, harassed or killed in the name of honour and in most cases the system won't so much as blink; that victims who report crimes face a legal system that grinds them down until they give up; that perpetrators have little to fear because the odds of facing consequences are as low as winning a rigged game. What does it say about our institutions when they serve abusers over sufferers?
It's not that GBV survivors aren't stepping up; these figures prove they are. The real battle begins after they speak up, facing stonewalling police, botched investigations and compromised courts that drag cases into oblivion.
Many women drop complaints because they are worn down by threats, familial pressure, financial constraints or the sheer futility of fighting a rigged system. In some cases police refuse to lodge complaints while in others victims are pushed into coerced compromises with their victimisers. When cases reach court, endless delays and legal gymnastics give culprits a free pass. Justice isn't just delayed; it trickles away like a leaking pipe, rarely delivering a drop where needed.
Blaming culture, society or even survivors themselves for not fighting harder is the easy way out, but that's a convenient cop-out. Why not ask instead why the system makes fighting back so impossible? The real mess lies in a criminal justice system that should be a bulwark for all victims - especially those of GBV - but instead throws a safety net around their abusers.
Reading reports, shaking our heads, wringing our hands and tweeting outrage changes nothing. Pakistan's criminal justice system must slam shut the revolving door where victimisers walk in accused and walk out exonerated. That means overhauling police investigations so cases aren't botched before they even reach court and streamlining trials so surviving victims escape years of legal limbo. It also means ensuring real legal aid to protect threatened victims and holding accountable those who enable perpetrators, be they police officers, prosecutors, judges or politicians. Most of all, it means treating GBV as a national emergency.
Every survivor of GBV and every life lost to it deserves justice, but justice isn't just about convictions; it's about dismantling a system that all but guarantees unaccountability. Until we dismantle this machinery of impunity, Pakistan will keep failing its women, not just in the courtroom but in the very promise of justice itself.
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