Noor Got Justice, But Why Does Pakistan Fail Its Women?

Noor Mukadam at a protest outside the Islamabad Press Club, holding a poster demanding justice for a rape survivor. The photo, taken on September 12, 2020, captures her activism months before she herself was murdered by her partner on July 20, 2021. Credit: Shafaq Zaidi

“It’s brought me some closure,” said Shafaq Zaidi, a school friend of Noor Mukadam, reacting to the Supreme Court’s May 20 verdict upholding both the life sentence and death penalty for Noor’s killer, Zahir Jaffer.

“Nothing can bring Noor back, but this decision offers a sense of justice—not just for her, but for every woman in Pakistan who’s been told her life doesn’t matter,” Zaidi told IPS from Islamabad. “It’s been a long and painful journey—four years of fighting through the sessions court, high court, and finally, the Supreme Court.”

Rights activist Zohra Yusuf echoed the sentiment: “It’s satisfying that the Supreme Court upheld the verdict,” she said, though added the crime’s brutality made the judgment hard to celebrate. “It was so horrific—torture with a knuckleduster, rape, and beheading—that one can’t even feel relief.”

She also pointed out that the public outcry may have only been possible because of the backgrounds involved: Noor, 27, was the daughter of a former ambassador; Jaffer, 30, held dual Pakistan-U.S. nationality and came from a powerful family.

Despite the ruling, many—like Yusuf—oppose the death penalty. Pakistan’s Human Rights Commission (HRCP) recorded at least 174 death sentences in 2024, up from 102 in 2023, but no known executions took place. The last was in 2019, for the rape and murder of 6-year-old Zainab Ansari.

Still, Noor’s father, Shaukat Ali Mukadam, has stood firm: “This isn’t just about my daughter—it’s about all of Pakistan’s daughters.” He repeatedly called the death sentence “very necessary” in a society where violence against women so often goes unpunished.

The HRCP’s 2024 annual report painted a grim picture. At least 405 women were killed in so-called honour crimes, 1,641 in domestic violence incidents, and 4,175 rape cases were reported, along with 733 gang rapes and dozens of incest and custodial abuse cases. Even 13 transgender persons were sexually assaulted—one murdered by her own family in the name of honour.

The digital space is no safer: the Digital Rights Foundation documented 3,121 cases of cyber-harassment in 2024, the majority from Punjab.

But statistics alone cannot convey the trauma or injustice behind them.

“We recently won a maintenance case for twin baby girls,” said Haya Zahid, CEO of the Legal Aid Society (LAS). “Their father divorced their mother in hospital—just because she gave birth to daughters.”

LAS handles hundreds of cases involving rape, domestic abuse, child marriage, acid attacks, and more. Yet, justice is rare. Bassam Dhari of LAS cited the murder of Daya Bheel, who was skinned, dismembered, and decapitated in rural Sindh. “It didn’t even register nationally,” he said.

Lawyer Syeda Bushra, also from LAS, said Noor’s case is the exception. “We have enough laws—but they’re useless when investigations are weak, and trials are slow. Justice is denied or delayed daily.”

Gender and governance expert Fauzia Yazdani noted that while Pakistan has passed progressive laws, “they’ve failed to resonate in a patriarchal society.” Laws mean little, she argued, if societal attitudes remain misogynistic.

Pakistan’s justice system also allows room for manipulation. The diyat (blood money) law lets perpetrators escape punishment by compensating victims’ families—a law often abused by the wealthy.

“In our country, money can buy anything,” said Dhari. He recalled the 2023 death of 10-year-old Fatima Furiro, a domestic worker whose abuse was captured on video. Public outrage led to her employer’s arrest—but the case was dropped after her impoverished family accepted blood money.

Even in Noor’s case, the accused’s lawyer cited a “live-in relationship” to argue against the death sentence for rape. “Her reputation was sullied—even in death,” said Yazdani. Judge Hashim Kakar remarked, “A boy and girl living together is a misfortune for our society.”

“That’s not justice,” said Bushra. “Verdicts should be grounded in law, not morality.”

Few lawyers openly challenge judges, fearing repercussions. “Judges can take it personally,” Dhari said.

Still, Yazdani argued that reform is possible—faster hearings, better-trained police, special courts for gender-based violence (GBV), and more women in the judiciary could all make a difference.

Yet empathy, she warned, cannot be legislated. “Social change takes time—at least five years to begin and another ten to take hold.”

Judicial inequality is another challenge. A 2024 Law and Justice Commission report found that women make up less than 20% of legal professionals. Only 7 of the 126 superior court judges are women; just two sit on the Supreme Court.

Bushra believes more women must enter the legal system, especially as prosecutors and judges. “Victims often break down when recounting abuse to male officers,” she said. But simply adding more women won’t fix a broken system—training and sensitivity are crucial.

Progress is emerging. The Anti-Rape Act of 2021 led to the creation of special courts and units. Nida Aly of AGHS, part of the anti-rape committee, noted that 91% of complaints now reach special courts and conviction rates have risen from 3.5% to 5%. Punjab also set up crisis centres in all districts offering legal and psychosocial help.

“Judges now take time to prepare complainants—something we’d never seen before,” Aly said.