ISLAMABAD and LAHORE — Pakistan opened the new year with two sweeping moves against journalists and lawyers, intensifying concerns among rights groups that the country is entering one of its most repressive periods in decades.
In Islamabad, an anti-terrorism court sentenced seven journalists, commentators and a former military officer to two life terms each, after trials conducted entirely in absentia, for allegedly “waging war against Pakistan” through online commentary linked to the May 9, 2023 unrest. A day earlier in Lahore, the Punjab Bar Council suspended the licence of a lawyer who represented a controversial TikTok personality during a court strike, accusing him of “serious professional impropriety” and sowing discord within the legal community.
Taken together, the actions underscore what analysts describe as a broadening campaign to criminalise dissent, silence critics of the security establishment, and tighten institutional control over the country’s public sphere.
The Islamabad Anti-Terrorism Court’s verdict — one of the harshest in recent memory — targeted a group of high-profile media figures, including YouTuber Adil Raja and journalists Wajahat Saeed Khan, Sabir Shakir and Shaheen Sehbai. All were accused of “digital terrorism” for allegedly using online platforms to incite attacks on state institutions during the May 9 protests that erupted after the arrest of former Prime Minister Imran Khan.
The court handed down:
- Two life sentences for “waging war” and criminal conspiracy
- Ten-year terms under sections related to mutiny and conspiracy
- Three additional five-year sentences under the Anti-Terrorism Act
- Heavy fines, with additional jail time for non-payment
The trials were held without the defendants present. The court-appointed defence counsel, not chosen by the accused, represented them. A detailed judgment is still pending.
Rights groups reacted sharply. Amnesty International warned that Pakistan was using anti-terror laws “to silence commentators and journalists,” calling the charges a violation of free expression. Reporters Without Borders issued similar concerns.
In Lahore, the Punjab Bar Council suspended the licence of Advocate Mian Ali Ashfaq after he appeared in a Karachi court to represent TikToker Rajab Butt during a citywide lawyers’ strike. The council said Ashfaq violated professional norms by appearing with private guards and making remarks that “caused divisions within the legal fraternity”.
The council moved swiftly, issuing no prior notice and referring the case for possible permanent disbarment. Its chairman said the lawyer had long been involved in conduct “unbecoming of a member of the legal profession”.
The episode unfolded days after Butt was physically assaulted inside a Karachi courtroom during a hearing on charges of hurting religious sentiments — a reminder of the increasingly volatile environment surrounding cases involving speech and religion.
The two cases fit into a broader pattern that has alarmed civil society groups, diplomats and academics.
In recent years, Pakistan’s civic landscape has tightened into something far more brittle than at any point in the past decade. Journalists have increasingly found themselves on the front lines of this contraction, with dozens charged under sedition, terrorism and other “anti‑state” provisions for reporting or commentary that once fell squarely within the bounds of public debate.
Others have simply vanished for days or weeks at a time, abducted by unidentified men and later released with quiet, chilling warnings to abandon critical coverage.
The state’s regulatory machinery has expanded in parallel: the Pakistan Electronic Crimes Act, originally framed as a tool against cybercrime, is now routinely deployed to police online speech, while political activists have been hauled before military courts in proceedings that rights organisations say violate basic due‑process norms. Even the digital sphere has not been spared; social media platforms are periodically shut down during moments of political tension, severing the public’s access to information and organising spaces.
Lawyers, too, have come under growing pressure, particularly those who take on cases touching the military or blasphemy—areas where legal representation itself can be construed as defiance. Together, these trends paint a portrait of a state steadily narrowing the space for dissent, and of institutions increasingly aligned against those who attempt to question, criticise or simply defend the rights of others.
The cumulative effect, analysts say, is a climate in which speech is increasingly policed, dissent is equated with treason, and legal institutions are being used to enforce ideological conformity.
Legal experts warn that the use of anti-terrorism courts for speech-related offences — and the willingness of bar councils to discipline lawyers for representing unpopular clients — risks eroding the independence of the judiciary.
“Trying journalists in absentia for commentary, and suspending lawyers for simply appearing in court, signals a profound institutional shift,” said one constitutional scholar, who requested anonymity for fear of reprisal. “It suggests that the legal system is being repurposed to enforce political obedience.”
Pakistan’s political landscape remains deeply polarised nearly three years after the May 9 unrest. The military, long the country’s most powerful institution, has tightened its grip on politics, media and the judiciary. Civilian governments, weakened by internal divisions and economic crises, have shown little appetite for confronting the security establishment.
For many Pakistanis, the latest actions are not isolated incidents but part of a systemic contraction of civic space.
“Freedom is being suffocated from all sides,” said a senior journalist in Islamabad. “When speech becomes a crime, and when lawyers are punished for defending the accused, the rule of law itself begins to collapse.”