In April 2026, a young mother from Sukkur Sindh, Gulaan Bharo, came to the police asking protection for herself after her life had been threatened. She went to the police, was taken to a Dar ul Aman, and subsequently appeared before court, where she stated that her husband would kill her if she returned. She asked to be kept in state custody but later went back to her father’s house on his assurance that she would be protected. However, within days, she was killed.
Her story is disturbing, but not unusual. Before Gulaan Buharo, there was Khalida Chandio and many more, most of whom go unnoticed. These cases hence reflect a larger truth that is not often discussed in the context of honour-based violence in Pakistan. Honour killing is often cited as being a product of tradition, patriarchy or social norms. These are important considerations, but they can also mask another key component to this issue: the failure of the state to offer effective protection for women who seek assistance prior to the violence.
Honour killings remain one of Pakistan’s most persistent human rights challenges. In 2024, the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan documented 405 at least honour killings, all of which were perpetrated on women. Moreover, figures reported to National Assembly by Azam Nazeer Tarar Minister for Human Rights, Pakistan, revealed that 1553 women have been killed in Pakistan for the sake of honour from 2021 to 2024. Behind every single one of those statistics is a living person who knew exactly what was coming. Some asked for help from the police for protection. Some sought refuge from shelters, Darul Aman’s and other appealed to the court. Each person tried to ask for help from institutions of states yet none could help them.
This raises a question: Despite women identifying the threat and asking assistance, why is it that state’s protective mechanisms and institutions continue to fail them again and again? Why do we hear such stories, sensationalize them on internet, ask questions and raise our voices against them, however before few days even go by, we are forced to face the fact that another women lost her life yet again.
Part of the answer lies in policy failure of the state. There exists gap between legal reform and institutional capacity. The state has passed numerous laws, especially after Qandeel Baloch case in 2016, aimed at rectifying laws and loopholes regarding honour killing cases. One such was Criminal Law (Amendment) (Offences in the name or pretext of Honour) Act, 2016 which close loopholes that had historically allowed perpetrators to avoid punishment through family forgiveness provisions.
Yet laws without implementation are just words on a paper. They alone don’t guarantee protection, rather it is only through their enforcement that safety and protection is guaranteed. Pakistan as a state falls short on this criterion. The country’s shelter infrastructure, for example, falls far short of the scale of the challenge. Punjab, a province of more than 110 million people and with the highest reported rate of honour killings only operates 36 Dar ul Amans. A total of 1,800 women can be served in the shelters across the province, since each district facility can accommodate up to 20–50 women at one time. Thus, this is only a political symbol and not a true safety net.
Numbers aren’t the only concern. The National Commission for Human Rights and UN Women have identified gaps in legal and psychological support, rehabilitation and the management of institutions in several shelters. While some centres are established as full protection centres, others do not have the necessary facilities to ensure long-term protection and reintegration. Reports documenting instances of shelter staff contacting residents’ families without their consent are particularly concerning, as such actions may expose women to the very dangers they sought to escape.
Access to protection is further hindered by administrative hurdles. Access to state institutions such as police stations, courts and formal support services often requires a Computerized National Identity Card (CNIC). However, a study by the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan shows that women in some conservative and underprivileged communities are much less likely to have identity documents than men. In some instances, registration is a form of control itself. The result is that women who are most at risk of violence often are the least likely to have access to the institutions designed to help them.
In addition, the constraints of Pakistan’s response are a symptom of a governance problem. Honour killing is often dealt with in the public discourse as a cultural problem that lies beyond the scope of state policy. However, culture is not sufficient as an explanation for women’s continued vulnerability when seeking protection. It cannot account for the inadequate funding of shelters, the existence of administrative obstacles, or the failure to timely implement the legislation. These pose governance issues, not only social norms.
Solving the problem must go beyond periodic legislation. Increased shelter provision, more robust monitoring, independent access to CNIC registration, better support for victims, and better coordination between the police, courts and protection agencies are all practical measures that could help to mitigate vulnerability. It is also crucial that the institutions delegated with safeguarding women are assessed not on the basis of policies on paper but by their capacity to prevent foreseeable acts of violence.
Pakistan has proven its capability of addressing honour killing as a serious national problem. The real challenge is putting recognition into practice, that is, to turn recognition into protection. But when women recognize danger, call for assistance, and yet still die, the issue isn’t just cultural. It becomes a measure of whether the state possesses the capacity and political commitment to safeguard those who turn to it for protection.