In a country where television is more than entertainment where it often functions as a moral classroom. Pakistani dramas have taken on an alarming cultural power. These shows don't just reflect society; they prescribe it. With every prime-time episode, we see a carefully packaged blend of male dominance, material greed, performative morality, and dangerously normalized abuse. The cost of this televised toxicity isn't just intellectual, it is emotional, cultural, and even legal. And yet, despite the harm, authorities like PEMRA and the censor board remain silent, absent, or worse, complicit.
Night after night, millions of viewers are fed the same poisonous formula: a submissive woman romanticized for her suffering, a dominant male whose abuse is either forgiven or glorified, and a so-called “homewrecker” woman punished for daring to be independent or ambitious. The result isn’t entertainment, it’s indoctrination. Women are painted either as saints or schemers, with no room for complexity. Men are framed as saviours or tyrants, never equals. In this warped universe, toxic masculinity is not condemned it is crowned.
What’s more troubling is how themes like divorce, infidelity, and even honour killings are treated with a strange moral ambiguity. Divorced women are shamed and discarded, regardless of why the marriage broke down. Men are rarely held accountable for infidelity; they’re “misguided,” not malicious. The mistress is punished, while the man walks away with his dignity intact. And when a drama dares to flirt with the subject of honour-based violence, it often does so with the same tone as a Shakespearean tragedy: poetic, tragic, and somehow justifiable. That ambiguity is deadly.
This is where the law should intervene but it doesn't. According to Section 20 of the PEMRA Ordinance 2002, no content should air that violates decency, Islamic values, or cultural norms, nor should it incite violence or hatred. If this regulation were seriously enforced, half of our prime-time dramas would be flagged. Instead, PEMRA is more likely to penalize progressive content especially when it addresses taboo issues like harassment, marital rape, or female autonomy than to censor the actual harm being glorified in traditional scripts. The result is a warped definition of morality: violence is tolerable, but women talking about rights is not.
Women are painted either as saints or schemers, with no room for complexity; while men are framed as saviours or tyrants, never equals
The censor board fares no better. While its influence on film is more direct, it plays a negligible role in television oversight. Entire seasons of drama serials built on domestic abuse, emotional trauma, and cultural regression pass through unchallenged, often becoming national hits. These stories may be fictional, but their psychological and cultural consequences are frighteningly real.
This isn’t just a media problem, it’s a legal vacuum. Article 19 of Pakistan’s Constitution guarantees freedom of speech, with “reasonable restrictions” in the interests of morality and public order. That same clause is invoked to silence dissent or censor independent journalism, yet dramas that glorify marital violence or honour killings are paired with pride. In a country already battling gender-based violence and systemic misogyny, this kind of televised endorsement is more than irresponsible, it’s dangerous.
Also dangerous is the aspirational rot at the heart of many scripts. Viewers are taught to equate wealth with virtue and ambition with vice. Greedy, materialistic women are shown scheming for designer clothes, large homes, and rich husbands, as though morality itself is tied to economic class. Poverty is framed as a personal failure; luxury is portrayed as the natural reward for good behaviour. This isn’t drama it’s consumerist propaganda, fuelling envy and insecurity among audiences who don’t live in the same manicured mansions their favourite characters inhabit.
And when people internalize these messages about power, gender, wealth, and honour they begin to apply them in real life. A woman might tolerate abuse “for the sake of family,” a man might feel entitled to control or punish his spouse, and a society might look the other way when violence is committed “in the name of dignity.” Dramas may claim to reflect society, but when the same themes dominate repeatedly, they don’t reflect they reinforce.
It is time for both PEMRA and the Ministry of Information to acknowledge that storytelling is not neutral. If dramas can shape perceptions, then those who write, produce, and broadcast them must be held accountable. Writers are not just artists they are cultural architects. Their words influence how people think, vote, raise children, and even justify violence. That kind of power cannot go unchecked.
The same standard of accountability must also be applied in other regulatory spheres, such as technology. For example, just as drama producers avoid scrutiny despite their social impact, the telecom regulatory authorities allow loopholes to fester that pose direct risks to society. Take the issue of rooted phone devices modified to bypass PTA approvals. These untraceable phones are a ticking time bomb. Not only do they evade tax nets, damaging the formal economy, but their untraceability makes them potential tools for criminal activity. From financial fraud to terrorism, these devices provide anonymity in a country already struggling with internal security threats. Yet, like PEMRA’s silence on toxic drama content, the response from authorities remains tepid and inadequate.
Ultimately, whether it’s unchecked content on screen or unregulated devices in people’s hands, the common thread is regulatory failure. We are a nation suffering not from a lack of laws, but from a lack of will. And while institutions sleep, the damage accumulates on screens, in homes, and in hearts.
It’s not enough to change the channel. It’s time to change the system.