Beyond the law: Why honor killings persist in Pakistan despite legislative changes

A gruesome video surfaced from Pakistan's southwestern Balochistan province last week. It shows a woman wrapped in a shawl, clutching a copy of the Holy Qur’an, telling a man: “Come walk seven steps with me, after that you can shoot me.” He follows her—and pulls the trigger.

The woman and the man were gunned down in cold blood, their bodies riddled with bullets in a deserted area of Balochistan’s Degari. The execution was allegedly ordered by a jirga (tribal council). The incident triggered national outrage, drawing attention once again to Pakistan’s persistent and brutal crisis of so-called honor killings.

Chief Minister Sarfraz Bugti confirmed that the victims, both parents of multiple children, were murdered in the name of honor. He assured the public that the killers would be prosecuted under constitutional law—not tribal codes.

But this promise rings hollow against the backdrop of hundreds of similar killings each year, many of which go unpunished.

A crisis of law—and mindset

According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), there were at least 405 honor killings in 2024 alone. From 2021 to 2023, 1,203 cases were reported across the country. But the actual figure is likely higher. Many incidents never make it to police stations, let alone courts.

These killings often involve close family members—fathers, brothers, cousins—who justify murder by claiming their family’s “honor” was damaged by a woman’s personal choices. This twisted sense of morality is deeply rooted in a patriarchal, feudal mindset. And as HRCP Chairperson Asad Iqbal Butt points out, this mindset is not limited to rural chieftains.

“Feudalism is not just about land ownership,” he says. “It’s a way of thinking. A teacher silencing a student’s question, a doctor brushing off a patient’s concern, a man breaking traffic laws just because he can—all of these reflect the same authoritarian attitude.”

Butt argues that the practice of honor killing persists because it reinforces control. “These killings send a message: we own you, your body, your choices. Without our permission, you are nothing.” And this mindset, he says, is spreading even in urban centers. “There was a time when honor killings were limited to parts of Sindh and Balochistan. Now, they’re happening in Karachi too.”

The law’s evolution—and its loopholes

Barrister Rida Hosain explains that the legal recognition of honor killings in Pakistan began in 2004, when the Pakistan Penal Code was amended to define offenses committed in the name or pretext of honor—such as karo kari and similar practices. A more significant reform followed in 2016, when the law introduced a minimum penalty of life imprisonment for honor killings and included them under fasad-fil-arz, enabling courts to punish offenders even if the victim’s family pardons them.

Before this reform, families of the victim could forgive the killer under Pakistan’s diyat law—a provision that allowed murderers to walk free, especially in cases where the killer and the victim belonged to the same family. “One of the main obstacles to justice was that a brother who killed his sister could be pardoned by his own parents,” Hosain notes.

The 2016 amendment also included such crimes under the category of fasad-fil-arz, giving courts the authority to override family pardons in the interest of public justice.

But in practice, these protections are often bypassed. The case of Qandeel Baloch—a social media star murdered by her brother in 2016—remains a glaring example.

“Despite her brother’s confession, the Lahore High Court acquitted him on the basis of a family pardon,” says Hosain. “The court ruled it wasn’t an honor killing, despite overwhelming evidence.”

The legal reform exists, but so do judicial biases. “The courts continue to show leniency to men who kill in the name of honor,” Hosain says. “The use of the word ‘honor’ itself seeks to justify a brutal crime.”

Tribal justice vs state justice

The Degari killings were reportedly carried out on the orders of a tribal jirga—a parallel justice system that still holds immense sway in rural Pakistan, especially in Balochistan and Sindh. These councils openly flout the law and decide cases involving women, land, and family disputes.

Butt points out the hypocrisy: “The same lawmakers who vote for bills banning jirgas in parliament are the ones chairing them in their hometowns. They hold their gatherings, pass judgments, and even charge ‘hospitality fees’ for those attending.”

Despite laws against such practices, the state often turns a blind eye. “Why?” Butt asks. “Because these feudal lords are the state’s voters. They are part of the system, part of the assemblies. Challenging them means challenging the political structure itself.”

The judiciary’s recent activism—such as the Balochistan High Court’s suo motu notice of the Degari case—is a positive sign. But isolated actions won’t uproot an entire culture of impunity.

Reporting vs reality

There’s also a debate about whether honor killings are actually increasing or simply being reported more often. “People say cases have gone up,” says Butt. “I say cases have always been there—now people finally know where to go, who to contact, how to get help.”

This increased awareness owes much to a more responsive media, women’s rights organizations, and a new generation of citizens unwilling to accept silence.

But the statistics remain horrifying: more than 1,600 reported cases in just four years. And those are only the ones that reached the authorities.

What must be done

Hosain calls for urgent legal reform. “The gaps in the law must be addressed. The state must prosecute cases even when families don’t come forward. And courts must stop treating these killings as less serious just because they’re labeled as ‘honor crimes.’”

But laws alone won’t fix the problem. As Butt repeatedly emphasizes, the deeper issue is societal: the mindset that sees women as property, not people. “As long as we treat women as objects rather than human beings, these killings will continue,” he says. “The day we see women as full citizens deserving of rights and dignity—that’s the day this crisis will start to end.”

The Degari killings are not just another headline. They are a mirror—showing us that until we confront both our flawed legal system and our oppressive cultural codes, justice will remain out of reach for too many.