Pakistan is witnessing a moral and social crisis that manifests most clearly in the authoritarian violence inflicted on its most vulnerable citizens: children and women. Recent incidents of extreme brutality within religious institutions and domestic spaces have laid bare a pattern of systemic abuse—a deep-seated cultural tendency to control, discipline, and punish those whose bodies are perceived as subordinate.
The tragic case of Farhan, a young boy from Swat, exemplifies this crisis. His reluctance to attend a madrassah stemmed from credible claims of sexual coercion and physical abuse. He confided in his grandfather about the sexual advances of the Qari’s son, yet when his father was informed, he dismissed the boy’s fear and insisted he continue. Upon return, Farhan was savagely beaten to death, his entire body marked with cruelty. His crime? Resisting submission to adult male authority in a system that tolerates no dissent from children.
This is not an isolated incident but part of a broader pattern where institutions designed for moral guidance have become spaces of terror and subjugation. The same authoritarian logic underpins the widespread violence against women in both public and private spheres.
In Karachi, a 19-year-old bride was found dead a month after marriage, her body bearing signs of extreme sexual violence, including repeated anal assault by her husband. Despite forensic evidence, the legal system failed to recognise this brutality as a crime because marital rape remains unacknowledged under Pakistani law. Once again, a woman’s body was deemed the property of another, with her consent rendered irrelevant.
The same patriarchal morality that justifies “disciplining” boys for disobedience also rationalises “punishing” women for seeking autonomy, pleasure, or choice
These two cases—a child in a madrassah and a woman in her marital home—are not disconnected. Both reflect a cultural order that sanctions violence to maintain control over those deemed weak, subordinate, or transgressive. The same patriarchal morality that justifies “disciplining” boys for disobedience also rationalises “punishing” women for seeking autonomy, pleasure, or choice.
This phenomenon is not limited to individual acts of cruelty. It is enabled by a sociopolitical structure that protects perpetrators and silences victims. Whether it is a Qari backed by a religious institution, or a husband protected by cultural and legal norms, abusers operate with near impunity. Meanwhile, victims—children and women alike—are gaslit, ignored, or blamed.
The problem lies deeper than failed laws or corrupt enforcement. At its core is a cultural ideology of control. Children are not seen as individuals with rights but as moral projects to be shaped through force. Women are not partners in marriage but vessels of family honour and male authority. The systems of education, religion, marriage, and family are all implicated in the reproduction of this violence.
Anthropologically, this reflects what scholars call a moral panic around agency. Any assertion of will—a child’s refusal to attend madrassah, complaints of abuse, or a woman’s choice in marriage, objection to marital rape—is seen as a threat to moral order. The response is often swift and brutal, cloaked in the language of protection, honour, or discipline.
Ironically, both Islamic teachings and Pakistan’s constitutional guarantees uphold the rights of children to safety and the rights of women to dignity and consent. But these ideals are consistently undermined by patriarchal interpretations, tribal customs, and the state’s unwillingness to confront deeply rooted injustice.
This authoritarianism is not just about individual families or clerics—it is a reflection of a broader societal failure to reckon with power, morality, and vulnerability. Women and children are at the frontline of this crisis. Their suffering—and their resistance—are barometers of a nation’s ethical health.
To imagine a better future, Pakistan must undergo a moral reckoning. It must redefine authority not as control, but as responsibility. It must reorient its institutions—from the home to the mosque—to protect rather than punish the vulnerable. Anything less will perpetuate a legacy of broken bodies and muted cries, and with it, the erosion of our collective humanity.