Editorial
Two deeply disturbing incidents in Sindh have shaken the moral foundations of a province long celebrated for its pluralism, cultural openness, and Sufi-rooted tolerance. The brutal killing of a young woman in the name of so-called “honour” in Khairpur, and the shocking manhandling of globally acclaimed artist and activist Sheema Kermani in Karachi, are not isolated events. They are symptoms of a deeper erosion—of law, of values, and of the very identity Sindh has proudly upheld for generations.
The murder of Rubina alias Khalida Chandio is not just another statistic in the grim tally of “karo-kari” killings. It is a chilling reminder of how normalized brutality has become. Shot dead allegedly by her own relatives, her killing was not only premeditated but grotesquely documented and circulated on social media. The act of filming such a crime reflects a dangerous level of impunity—a belief that neither law nor society will hold perpetrators accountable. Victim released a video before she was shot dead in which she stated that she would be killed soon on the name of honour killing and she requested state protection that was never provided to her. After her murder, Sindh government has also taken notice, ordering a transparent investigation. These are necessary steps, but they are reactive. The more uncomfortable question is: why do such crimes continue to occur with alarming regularity? Laws against honour killings exist in Pakistan, yet enforcement remains inconsistent, and social acceptance of such practices continues to provide cover for murder.
Equally troubling, though different in nature, is the treatment meted out to Sheema Kermani—an internationally respected cultural figure who has spent decades advocating for women’s rights and progressive values. That she and her colleagues were denied permission for a press conference, then allegedly manhandled, abused, and detained, sends a troubling message about shrinking civic space.
Sindh has historically been the cradle of artistic expression and intellectual discourse. From Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai to Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s admirers in Karachi, the province has symbolized resistance through culture. When an artist like Sheema Kermani is silenced through force rather than engaged through dialogue, it signals not just administrative failure but a deeper intolerance creeping into public life.
These two incidents—one in rural Khairpur and the other in urban Karachi—are connected by a common thread: the systemic marginalization of women and the normalization of coercion. In one case, a woman is killed to preserve a distorted notion of honour; in the other, a woman is intimidated for asserting her right to assemble and speak. Both reflect a society where women’s autonomy remains contested terrain.
It would be misleading, however, to attribute these developments solely to cultural backwardness or administrative lapses. There is a broader societal complicity at play. Honour killings persist not just because perpetrators act, but because communities often remain silent—or worse, justify the violence. Similarly, the shrinking space for activism is not only the result of state action but also of a growing intolerance within segments of society toward dissenting voices.
Sindh now stands at a crossroads. It can either confront these uncomfortable truths and reaffirm its commitment to justice, equality, and cultural openness, or it can allow these incidents to become precedents, gradually redefining its identity.
The way forward requires more than arrests and official statements. It demands consistent enforcement of laws against honour-based violence, closing loopholes that allow perpetrators to escape through familial forgiveness. It requires police reform to ensure that citizens—especially women and activists—are protected, not persecuted. And above all, it calls for a societal shift: a rejection of violence masquerading as tradition, and an embrace of dialogue over suppression.
Sheema Kermani’s voice, like that of countless women across Sindh, represents not defiance but aspiration. Silencing such voices will not restore order; it will only deepen the fractures.
Sindh’s strength has always lain in its diversity and tolerance. Preserving that legacy is not just the responsibility of the state—it is a collective duty. Because when brutality is filmed without fear and peaceful voices are met with force, silence is no longer neutrality. It becomes complicity.
Pakistan is facing a situation of structural administrative paralysis where the state mostly operates in reactive mode but even then, it does not follow the path of follow-up and then the chain of events continues.
