News Desk
LAHORE, Pakistan — In the narrow alleys of Lahore, a 14-year-old girl, described by her family as mentally challenged, carried a secret too heavy for her young heart. On May 9, she was allegedly lured into a washroom, where four men are accused of gang-raping her, threatening her life if she spoke. Traumatized and terrified, she remained silent for days, her distress unnoticed until she confided in her parents. The Punjab Police acted swiftly, arresting the four suspects, and the case was declared “high-profile” by the provincial prosecutor general, who vowed strict legal action. Yet, in a country where anti-rape laws carry severe penalties—death or 10 to 25 years in prison—such cases remain chillingly common.
Halfway across the country in Islamabad, a different story unfolded, one that has gripped Pakistan for nearly four years. The Supreme Court’s decision to uphold the death sentence of Zahir Jaffer, convicted of the brutal 2021 murder and implied sexual assault of 27-year-old Noor Mukadam, has been hailed as a rare victory. Noor, tortured and beheaded in Jaffer’s home, became a symbol of the fight against gender-based violence. Her case, propelled by relentless advocacy from her family and civil society, defied the odds in a justice system often criticized as broken. “It’s a credit to Noor’s family that they weren’t coerced by blood pardons,” said Barrister Asad Rahim Khan, referring to Pakistan’s diyat laws, which sometimes allow perpetrators to evade punishment through financial settlements.
These two cases—one a fresh wound, the other a hard-won triumph—lay bare Pakistan’s complex reckoning with rape and violence against women. The Lahore case underscores a grim reality: despite stringent laws, sexual violence persists at alarming rates.
Data from the NGO Sahil reveals 3,364 child abuse cases in 2024 alone, including 862 instances of child sexual abuse. The numbers tell a story of systemic failure, where victims, especially the vulnerable like the Lahore teenager, often face intimidation and stigma. “She was scared, upset, and didn’t know how to tell us,” her mother said, speaking anonymously to protect her daughter’s identity. The suspects’ alleged use of a sacred space like a mosque only deepens the community’s outrage.
In contrast, the Noor Mukadam case offers a glimmer of hope, a signal that justice, though rare, is possible even for the privileged. Jaffer, from a wealthy family, might have once seemed untouchable. Yet, the Supreme Court’s ruling, dismissing his appeal, reaffirmed his death sentence. Lawyers like Zainab Shahid called it a “rare victory for women,” a departure from past high-profile cases where errors or influence led to acquittals. But the victory is bittersweet. During the hearing, Justice Hashim Kakar’s remarks—questioning Noor’s decision to visit Jaffer’s home and invoking cultural norms—drew criticism. “It is not the victim who is on trial,” said Barrister Rida Hussain, pointing to a judiciary still steeped in patriarchal biases.
The contrast between these cases highlights Pakistan’s dual reality: a nation where justice for victims of sexual violence is possible but often elusive. The Lahore case, still in its early stages, faces hurdles—investigative lapses, societal stigma, or pressure on the victim’s family could derail it. Noor’s case, by contrast, benefited from media scrutiny and public pressure, forces that lawyer Mirza Moiz Baig says were crucial to its outcome. “There are countless Noor Mukadams across the country,” he noted, urging reforms to address the structural issues that perpetuate violence.
For the Lahore teenager, the road to justice is uncertain. Her family, poor and unaccustomed to navigating legal systems, fears retaliation. “We just want her to be safe,” her mother whispered, her voice breaking. In Islamabad, Noor’s family awaits the execution of Jaffer’s sentence, knowing it cannot undo their loss. “This verdict is a beacon,” said lawyer Abdul Muizzu Jaferii, “but it must lead to broader change.”
As Pakistan grapples with these cases, the Supreme Court’s ruling in Noor’s case stands as a good omen, a sign that even the powerful can be held accountable. Yet, the Lahore case reminds us that for every high-profile victory, countless others—especially the marginalized—still wait for justice in a country where it too often evades.
