In Aik Aur Pakeezah, Aliya’s quiet yet unsettling remark to her husband—that if their son Akbar were to commit a crime, they would have no choice but to forgive him rather than send him to jail—lingers long after the scene ends. It is not just a mother speaking out of instinctive loyalty; it is a reflection of a deeper, more troubling truth embedded within Pakistani society and its legal framework. The possibility that Akbar may have fired a gun intended for Pakeezah, only for it to strike Faraz, makes the dialogue even more chilling. It forces us to confront a question that extends far beyond fiction: what happens when justice is subordinated to familial allegiance?
This tension lies at the heart of honour-based violence in Pakistan. Honour killings continue to pose a grave human rights challenge, with organizations such as the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) documenting hundreds of cases annually, and independent estimates suggesting that the true number may exceed a thousand each year due to chronic underreporting. Yet, what makes these crimes particularly difficult to prosecute is not merely their frequency, but their structure. In over ninety percent of cases, the perpetrators are family members themselves. The law, through the framework of Qisas and Diyat, grants the victim’s heirs the power to forgive the offender—a provision that, in the context of honour killings, often results in families effectively pardoning their own.
This creates a disturbing cycle of “self-forgiveness,” where accountability dissolves within the very unit that enabled the crime. Even legislative efforts, such as the Anti-Honour Killing Law of 2016, which sought to impose mandatory life imprisonment regardless of familial pardon, have struggled to dismantle this pattern. Loopholes persist. Offenders continue to evade full punishment by reframing their actions under the guise of “sudden provocation” or by having cases registered as ordinary homicide, thereby sidestepping stricter legal consequences.
From Colonial Leniency to Islamisation
The origins of legal leniency towards honour killings can be traced back to the colonial era. British legal principles allowed the defence of “grave and sudden provocation,” under which men who killed female relatives for perceived sexual misconduct could have their offence reduced from murder to manslaughter. This notion survived well into post-independence Pakistan, shaping judicial attitudes that viewed such killings as emotionally driven rather than criminally culpable.
A major shift occurred in 1990 following the Islamisation of criminal law through the incorporation of Qisas and Diyat provisions into the Pakistan Penal Code. Triggered by judicial pronouncements declaring existing laws un-Islamic, these reforms fundamentally recharacterised murder. It was no longer treated solely as a crime against the state but as a private wrong, with the victim’s heirs—designated as wali—empowered to determine the fate of the accused.
Qisas and Diyat as a Mechanism of Impunity
While the Qisas and Diyat framework was intended to align the law with Islamic principles, its practical implications for honour killings have been deeply problematic. The law permits the victim’s heirs to either waive the right of retribution (Qisas) or compound the offence by accepting compensation (Diyat). In cases of honour killings, where the perpetrator and the victim typically belong to the same family, this creates an inherent conflict of interest. The very individuals responsible for the crime or those sympathetic to it are often the ones empowered to forgive it.
This structure effectively institutionalises impunity. Perpetrators can commit murder and subsequently secure their own pardon through familial forgiveness. The state’s role remains minimal, intervening only in the absence of legal heirs—a situation that rarely arises in honour killing cases.
Moreover, the framework is embedded with gender bias. Male relatives are often prioritised in determining legal authority, and provisions governing guardianship further exclude women from meaningful participation. Compounding this is the broad judicial discretion allowed under provisions requiring courts to interpret laws in light of “Islamic injunctions,” without clear parameters. This has enabled courts to deliver decisions that reflect prevailing patriarchal norms rather than principled legal reasoning.
The 2004 Reform: Symbolism Over Substance
The Criminal Law (Amendment) Act 2004 marked the first explicit legislative attempt to address honour killings. It formally recognised such killings as intentional murder and introduced the concept of fasad-fil-arz, allowing courts to punish offenders even where forgiveness had been granted.
However, the reform stopped short of addressing the central flaw of the Qisas and Diyat system. The rights of waiver and compounding remained intact, preserving the possibility of private settlements in cases of murder. Furthermore, the law failed to impose strict constraints on judicial discretion, allowing courts to continue granting lenient sentences. The absence of mechanisms to ensure that courts properly identify honour-based motives further weakened its impact.
As a result, the 2004 law functioned more as a symbolic gesture than a substantive reform. It created the appearance of progress while leaving the structural foundations of impunity untouched.
The 2016 Law: Closing Loopholes or Repackaging Them?
The Anti-Honour Killing Law of 2016 was introduced in response to public outrage over high-profile cases, most notably the murder of Qandeel Baloch. It sought to address the forgiveness loophole by mandating life imprisonment even where the victim’s family pardons the offender.
At first glance, this appeared to be a significant step forward. However, the law suffers from critical limitations. Most notably, it places the burden on the prosecution to prove that a murder was committed “in the name or pretext of honour.” This creates opportunities for perpetrators to evade harsher penalties simply by denying the motive, thereby allowing cases to be treated as ordinary murder and remain subject to compounding.
Additionally, the determination of whether a killing qualifies as an honour crime is left to judicial discretion. Given the documented tendency of courts to interpret such cases through a patriarchal lens, this discretion often undermines the intent of the law. Judges may also commute sentences or rely on mitigating factors, thereby diluting the deterrent effect of mandatory punishments.
Persistent Legal and Structural Failures
Despite legislative reforms, several critical issues remain unresolved.
First, the continued availability of forgiveness and compounding mechanisms means that honour killings are not fully treated as crimes against the state. This fundamental doctrinal flaw allows private interests to override public justice.
Second, the enduring influence of the “grave and sudden provocation” doctrine despite its formal abolition continues to shape judicial reasoning. Courts frequently invoke it as a mitigating factor, effectively reintroducing a defence that legitimises violence in the name of honour.
Third, the legal framework fails to account for the collective nature of honour crimes. Individuals and institutions that facilitate or encourage such killings, including family members and informal community bodies, remain largely outside the scope of criminal liability.
Fourth, the law provides little in the way of preventive or protective measures. It focuses almost exclusively on punishment after the fact, offering no meaningful safeguards for potential victims or survivors.
Finally, broader systemic issues including weak investigation mechanisms, social pressure, and underreporting further limit the effectiveness of legal reforms.
Conclusion: Law, Patriarchy, and the Illusion of Reform
The evolution of Qisas and Diyat laws in Pakistan reveals a troubling pattern: reforms that appear progressive on the surface but fail to dismantle the structures that enable honour killings. By treating murder as a private, negotiable wrong rather than a public offence, the law continues to prioritise familial control over individual rights.
Ultimately, the persistence of honour killings cannot be attributed solely to legal deficiencies. It reflects the intersection of law with deeply entrenched patriarchal norms that define women’s autonomy as a threat to social order. Until these underlying assumptions are challenged both within the legal system and in society at large legislative reforms are likely to remain ineffective.
The challenge, therefore, is not merely to amend the law but to fundamentally reimagine it: to shift from a framework that accommodates patriarchal violence to one that unequivocally protects the dignity and autonomy of women.
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