Despite laws on paper, Balochistan remains a place where women are punished for choice, tribal ‘justice’ dictates life and death, and the state watches from the sidelines — unless a video goes viral.
Balochistan — Pakistan’s largest and most resource-rich province — rarely makes headlines, and when it does, it’s often for tragic reasons: bombings, attacks on passenger buses, targeted killings, enforced disappearances, arrest of activists, or political upheavals. In recent years, another deeply troubling issue has pushed its way into the spotlight — a rise in gender-based violence and ‘honour’ killings.
While such violence has long haunted the province, the proliferation of smartphones, internet access, and social media have made it increasingly difficult to keep these crimes hidden. Over the weekend, one such incident sparked nationwide outrage: a harrowing video emerged online, showing a woman and a man being killed by a group of men in the outskirts of Quetta — reportedly in the name of honour.
At a press conference on Monday evening, while sharing details of the so-called honour-based killing, Balochistan’s Chief Minister Sarfaraz Bugti disputed reports that the victims were a newly married couple. “The woman and man weren’t married. The woman had five children, and the man, aged around 45 to 50, also had four or five children,” he said, suggesting that the two may have been involved in an extramarital affair.
What’s ironic here is that, over a month after the gruesome murders, when the chief minister held a press conference to share details of the case, he did not share any information regarding the perpetrators or the police investigations into the actual crime. He instead chose to focus on the marital status of the victims, insinuating — without providing any evidence — that they were engaged in an extramarital affair. The fact that the issue at hand was the murders, not the victims’ marital fidelity, seemed to be lost on the chief minister.
Although he stressed that these details did not justify the killings, his comments were seen by some as reinforcing the kind of narratives that often accompany honour-based violence. “It is a murder, a crime, no matter what anyone has done. No one has the right to kill a person this ruthlessly and make videos,” Bugti said.
The footage had earlier sparked widespread condemnation from across the political spectrum, forcing the Balochistan government to take immediate action. By Sunday evening, CM Bugti had announced on X that 11 suspects had been arrested, with more arrests expected in the coming days.
But this wasn’t an isolated incident of violence against a woman.
Just this March, a young woman was abducted in Khuzdar, ostensibly for turning down a marriage proposal — allegedly with the backing of “influential persons”. The incident sparked public outcry, triggering protests and an uproar in Balochistan’s provincial assembly. For four days, the RCD Highway, which connects Quetta to Karachi, was temporarily closed. The woman was eventually recovered, but the public outrage took longer to die down.
Balochistan may have laws on paper, such as the Domestic Violence (Prevention and Protection) Act 2014, but implementation remains a serious challenge. The recurring nature of such crimes shows how the state’s writ often runs second to centuries-old tribal justice systems. It also raises questions about the government’s ability, or will, to protect women.
The state seems to only spring into action when a case goes viral, suggesting that justice for women in Balochistan — and the rest of the country — depends less on law, and more on public outrage.
A history of violence against women
While so-called honour killings are tragically common in Pakistan, some cases stand out for their sheer brutality and the impunity that cloaks them. One of the most chilling incidents emerged in 2008, when five women were buried alive in the village of Babakot in Usta Mohammad. The horror of the act sent shockwaves across the country and beyond — not just because of how horrifying it was, but also due to allegations of the complicity of state officials and tribal leaders.
According to The Guardian, government vehicles were reportedly used to abduct the five women, and that the killings were allegedly overseen by a tribal chief — the brother of Sadiq Umrani, a provincial minister at the time from the ruling Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP). For his part, Umrani denied the allegations, claiming that his family had nothing to do with the incident and accusing his rivals of propaganda. Nevertheless, Umrani remains a sitting member of the Balochistan Assembly and continues to be affiliated with the PPP.
The case stirred even greater controversy when, during a session of the National Assembly, Senator Israrullah Zehri defended the killings, declaring them to be in line with “tribal traditions.”
“These are centuries-old traditions, and I will continue to defend them,” he said, drawing support from several male lawmakers, some of whom even criticised the woman senator who had dared to raise the issue. Despite widespread condemnation, not a single perpetrator was ever brought to justice.
Activists argue that the prevalence of such heinous crimes largely stems from the state’s failure to act. “The state sees these crimes as tribal or cultural matters and avoids intervention,” says Sadia Baloch, a human rights defender who documents gender-based violence in Nasirabad and Jhal Magsi. “Families, fearing stigma or retaliation, often choose not to report them.”
Another driving factor, Sadia adds, is the deep-rooted influence of tribal chieftains, many of whom are politically connected and shielded from prosecution.
Imrana Imdad, a psychologist offering mental health support to survivors of gender-based violence, has been tracking honour-based crimes across the Makran coast and Lasbela. She says that these crimes are frequently backed by tribal elites who benefit from political power and state protection.
“In most honour killing cases, the culprits are tied to someone in power — a minister, tribal elder, politician or government official. Such figures frequently enjoy state protection, making it nearly impossible to bring them to justice,” says Imdad.
In January 2020, a Quetta sessions court — and later the Supreme Court — rejected then-senator Sarfraz Bugti’s bail in a case involving the alleged abduction of a minor girl and ordered his arrest. For his part, Balochistan government spokesperson Shahid Rind rejected allegations linking Sarfaraz Bugti — who is now chief minister — to the case, stating that the latter had been cleared by the court. The CM’s supporters say this was a family matter within the Bugti tribe that was deliberately politicised and turned into propaganda to malign him.
In October 2021, a tribal jirga in Kalat ordered the hanging of a man and woman for allegedly defying “honour.” Once again, the executions sparked outrage and once again, no arrests followed.
Then in February 2023, the discovery of three mutilated bodies — among them an 18-year-old woman — dumped in a well in Barkhan district shook the nation. The victims were believed to be members of Khan Muhammad Marri’s family. Marri accused then-Minister of Communications and Works, Sardar Abdul Rehman Khetran, of keeping his relatives in illegal detention and orchestrating their murder. Khetran was arrested but was later released on bail. He, too, currently serves in the provincial cabinet.
“The involvement of such powerful figures makes the rate of prosecution and punishment in honour killing and gender-based violence cases extremely low,” lamented Imdad. She added that while public outrage and media coverage can sometimes force authorities to act, once the noise fades, so does any hope for justice. “When people forget and move on, the families are pressured into forgiving the perpetrators, and charges are quietly dropped,” she says.
Sadia also pointed to Pakistan’s Qisas and Diyat laws — which allow families to pardon offenders — as a serious obstacle to justice.
One such example came earlier this year. In January, a man who had recently returned from the US murdered his 13-year-old daughter in Quetta over a TikTok video he deemed “objectionable.” The girl held American citizenship. The father was only arrested after public pressure mounted.
“Why must there be a media storm or diplomatic pressure before the state acts?” asks Sadia. “Why can’t the government protect women and girls as a matter of principle, not performance?”
A disturbing reality — in numbers
Each year, approximately 1,000 people — the majority of them women — are killed in honour killings across Pakistan, according to human rights organisations. These murders are typically committed by family members who claim to be defending their family’s honour.
According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), at least 392 women were killed in the name of honour between January and November 2024. Punjab reported the highest toll at 168, followed by Sindh (151), Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (52), Balochistan (19), and Islamabad (2). But activists believe that these figures are only the tip of the iceberg — the few cases that reached the media or police.
“The real numbers, especially in Balochistan, are far higher,” adds psychologist Imdad. “Many cases go unreported due to the influence of tribal chieftains, government officials, or individuals connected to political power.”
What has alarmed rights defenders most is the recurring pattern of impunity — particularly when those implicated include politically influential tribal or government figures. This influence often ensures that cases go unreported, underreported, or are quietly buried.
The recent killings on the outskirts of Quetta only drew public and official attention after a video of the incident went viral on social media. Yet, according to the FIR, the incident is believed to have occurred over a month ago. For weeks, there was no police investigation, no public statement, and no political response. It was only once the graphic evidence went public that the chief minister announced a series of arrests.
On July 18, Dawn.com reported another alleged honour killing — this time in Jaffarabad. But unlike the Quetta incident, there was no viral video, no public outrage and no official action. The story, like so many others, went unnoticed.
Even in the Quetta case, the delayed response has reignited uncomfortable questions: why does the state only act when violence against women is caught on camera and amplified on social media? What happens to the countless cases that never make it online?
Strong traditions, elite power, and a culture of impunity
Much of the violence faced by women in Balochistan stems from a combination of outdated tribal structures and the influence of powerful elites. At the heart of this violence are customary practices aimed at maintaining female subjugation — practices that former National Assembly member Israrullah Zehri once described as “centuries-old traditions” that he would “continue to defend.”
From honour killings and child marriages to the exchange of women to settle tribal disputes, such norms remain deeply entrenched within Balochistan’s tribal framework and are routinely shielded by the province’s political powerbrokers.
Efforts to dismantle this oppressive structure have historically been met with resistance. During the 1970s, prominent Baloch nationalist Nawab Khair Bakhsh Marri introduced a resolution in the provincial assembly to abolish the tribal chieftaincy system altogether. Then-Chief Minister Sardar Attaullah Mengal backed the move, arguing that the tribal hierarchy was incompatible with justice and democratic governance. However, the decision required federal approval and was sent to the government of then-Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. The proposal was never acted upon. Marri’s push for reform was one of the factors that led to growing political and administrative tensions between Baloch nationalists and the Bhutto government.
In cases of honour killings, what makes the situation even more disturbing is the alleged complicity of some of the province’s most powerful political stalwarts. Chief Minister Sarfraz Bugti, incumbent minister for Public Health Engineering Sardar Abdul Rehman Khetran, and senior PPP leader Sadiq Umrani have all faced serious allegations ranging from illegal detention and abduction to complicity in honour killings.
“The involvement of such powerful tribal leaders with strong connection to government not only hampers efforts to combat gender-based violence and honour killings in Balochistan, but also encourages others, as there is no accountability,” says Sadia, the local human rights defender.
These are not isolated events; they form part of a long-standing pattern in which perpetrators, especially those with tribal or political clout, act with near-total impunity, while state institutions remain either paralysed or complicit — until a horrific video surfaces on social media.
Header illustration by Abro/ File