Dowry In Pakistan Is A System Of Coercion, Not Love

The injustice begins at birth, where parents save for future dowry instead of investing in their daughter's character, education, and independence

Dowry In Pakistan Is A System Of Coercion, Not Love

Dowry in Pakistan has long ceased to be a cultural tradition and has instead become a system of coercion that punishes families for having daughters. What is presented as jahez is rarely a gesture of love or goodwill. It functions as an expectation and a social condition imposed at the threshold of marriage, placing a disproportionate burden on the bride’s parents. A permanent and uncompromising ban on both giving and demanding dowry is no longer a matter of reform; it is a moral necessity.

In many families that continue to follow regressive social practices, the injustice begins long before the wedding day. The birth of a daughter is often accompanied by anxiety rather than celebration. Instead of focusing on her education, character, and independence, parents begin worrying about her future marriage. Money is saved not for schooling or personal development, but for dowry. Gold is accumulated, furniture lists are prepared, and household items are collected years in advance. A child who should experience a secure and carefree childhood grows under the weight of a financial obligation imposed on her simply because of her gender.

As marriage approaches, this burden becomes more explicit. The groom and his family often approach marriage negotiations with an unspoken checklist of material expectations. A car of a specific model, fully furnished rooms, electronics, gold jewellery, expensive watches, cash, and sometimes even property are quietly assumed to be part of the arrangement. These demands are rarely made openly. They are conveyed through hints, comparisons, and social expectations, allowing the groom and his family to deny responsibility while benefiting from the outcome. Silence in these moments is not neutrality; it is complicity.

A child who should experience a secure and carefree childhood grows under the weight of a financial obligation imposed on her simply because of her gender

Alongside dowry, another form of entitlement has become normalised: the groom’s family dictating how many guests they will bring to the wedding. Bride’s families are routinely informed, not consulted, that hundreds of guests will attend from the groom’s side. These numbers are announced casually, as if feeding, seating, and managing them requires no effort or cost. Each additional guest increases expenses and logistical strain, which fall entirely on the bride’s family. Refusal is socially punished and labelled as disrespectful or miserly. This practice, like dowry itself, turns weddings into financial endurance tests imposed on one side alone. The financial impact of these expectations can be devastating. Families exhaust life savings, take loans, sell jewellery meant for security, or compromise the education and future of other children. A single wedding can destabilise a household for decades. Yet this sacrifice is rarely questioned. It is often romanticised as parental duty, while entitlement on the other side is normalised as a social custom.

This culture is also in clear contradiction with Islamic principles. Islam places financial responsibility on the groom through mehr, not on the bride’s parents. Jahez carries no religious obligation and has long been condemned by scholars as laanat because of the injustice and humiliation it creates. Using religion to justify dowry is not misunderstanding; it is distortion designed to protect privilege.

Perhaps the most painful injustice is how dowry culture diminishes the contribution of the bride’s parents. Parents who raise their daughter with care, protect her, educating her, and nurturing her values, are expected to part with her along with an inventory of material goods. They give away a human being shaped by years of sacrifice and love. No car, gold, house, or furniture can equal that offering. Yet society behaves as if this immeasurable contribution remains incomplete unless it is validated through wealth.

Another simple truth must be acknowledged. Most households today already possess furniture, electronics, utensils, cutlery, and basic necessities. Cars are owned, homes are furnished, and gold is accumulated through personal effort. Demanding these same items from the bride’s family is not tradition; it is dependency disguised as culture. Marriage should mark the beginning of shared responsibility, not a one-sided transfer of assets.

Instead of spending money on dowry, parents of girls should invest in their daughters’ education, skills, and independence. Money spent on education creates confidence, security, and choice. Money spent on dowry creates none of these. A society that prioritises cupboards, jewellery, and cars over learning and self-reliance is not preserving values; it is institutionalising inequality.

Those who demand dowry should not merely be discouraged; they should face social accountability. Families must stop shielding such behavior behind silence. Parents should refuse alliances with families that ask for dowry and expose these demands openly, instead of surrendering to the paralyzing fear of “loug kya kahenge”. The dread of being labelled disgraced has protected exploitation for generations, while victims are taught to endure quietly. Until society learns to value integrity over appearances, dowry will continue to thrive under the cover of respectability.

This societal failure is mirrored at the legislative level. A standing committee of the National Assembly recently rejected a bill aimed at banning dowry, dismissing it impractical. The proposed legislation sought to criminalise dowry practices and prescribe penalties for violations, while allowing parents to give voluntary gifts if they wished. Even this carefully worded attempt at reform was turned away. According to the PPP lawmaker who introduced the bill, the discussion in the committee reflected encouragement rather than restraint of dowry. When lawmakers hesitate to confront exploitation and instead echo social excuses, it becomes clear why the practice continues unchecked.

Pakistan does not suffer from a lack of laws; it suffers from a lack of will. Any meaningful reform must criminalise not only excessive dowry, but the act of demanding it directly or indirectly. Legal frameworks must also address coercive wedding practices, including forcing the bride’s family to bear unreasonable guest expenses. Enforcement mechanisms must protect complainants from retaliation and ensure consequences that are real, not symbolic. Without enforcement, legislation remains performative; without social support, enforcement collapses.

Marriage should be a bond of companionship, mutual respect, and shared responsibility, not a commercial exchange. As long as dowry and related demands remain socially acceptable, women will continue to be treated as liabilities, and parents will continue to measure their daughters’ worth in material terms. A permanent ban on dowry, backed by enforceable laws and public accountability, is not an attack on culture. It is a necessary step toward restoring dignity to marriage and justice to parents who give their daughters to the world with nothing but love, trust, and hope.

The author is currently studying law at the University of London