From Sana to Us All: When Saying No Becomes a Death Sentence
By Amina Bibi
“If you wish to know how civilized a culture is, look at how they treat its women.” — Bacha Khan
There are moments when I take pride in the country of my birth, Pakistan. As a woman, I no longer live under government-mandated restrictions like those enforced during the Zia era, on what I wear, whether I can drive, or which profession I can pursue. In principle, women in Pakistan today have the freedom to choose their own paths. But that is only one side of the story.
The other side is far more troubling. Patriarchy continues to harm not just women but men as well. It reinforces cycles of abuse, control, and even murder, all under the guise of “honor.”
The tragic murder of Sana Yousuf, a teenage medical student and social media user, exemplifies this violence. She was killed in her own home by a 22-year-old man whose friendship proposal she had rejected. The case sparked outrage, but should we really be surprised?
Unfortunately, no. Every day, headlines report fathers, brothers, husbands, and in-laws killing women in the name of honor. This has become a grim reality in Pakistan. Women from all backgrounds are vulnerable, from Fatima Jinnah to Benazir Bhutto, from Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy to political activists and students. Visibility and voice have too often come at a deadly price.
During an online conversation with a human rights activist from Gilgit-Baltistan, I was struck by his simple wish: that his daughter could buy an ice cream from a local shop without being harassed. This small desire speaks volumes about the state of women’s safety in our country.
Another issue that is often ignored is the objectification and fetishization of women from regions like Chitral and Gilgit-Baltistan. I recently attended a gathering in New York where the Chief Minister of Gilgit-Baltistan was present. Many speakers reduced women from the region to their looks, calling them the most beautiful women or parees (fairies), as though we are exotic rather than human.
This attitude is deeply dehumanizing. I recall a personal experience while attending a U.S. immigration interview in Islamabad. Local men began harassing us in a residential area, assuming we were Afghan women, and asking for our “prices.” My aunt confronted them, but the incident left me shaken. We were targeted simply because of our appearance.
Girls from Gilgit-Baltistan and Chitral continue to be targeted in cities because of their distinct ethnic identity. Our peaceful communities are seen as easy targets. On social media, fake pages are created by men pretending to be women, where images and videos are shared without consent, resulting in millions of views and abusive comments.
In 2022, I asked an online page to stop sharing women’s images from Gilgit-Baltistan. In retaliation, they posted my photos and accused me of “destroying the culture.” Despite clear cyber harassment, no criminal action was taken by the concerned authorities, other than forcing them to post a non-apology. A senior official even implied to my lawyer that the blame lay with me for sharing my pictures on social media, despite being tasked with ensuring justice. That experience shattered my faith in law enforcement.
To make matters worse, the way some media outlets and social media influencers covered Sana Yousuf’s murder was appalling. They framed the murderer as a “heartbroken lover” rather than as a criminal. But he was not a lover; he was a stalker, a man who could not accept “no” for an answer. He treated a woman’s rejection as an affront that justified taking her life.
I also hold Pakistani television dramas and films partly responsible. Many of the shows produced by our entertainment industry glorify stalking, normalize abuse, and portray women being slapped or mistreated by male protagonists. Independent women are often villainized, and forced relationships are romanticized. These narratives reinforce harmful gender norms and contribute to a culture where men feel entitled to women’s bodies, and stalking is mistakenly seen as an expression of love or obsession.
To the men in Pakistan: ask any woman in your life —your sister, cousin, friend, or mother— if she feels safe walking alone. Chances are, she doesn’t. Women in our country cannot safely go to a park, store, school, university, or workplace without fearing harassment or worse. This is not just a women’s issue; it’s a societal one. Men must re-evaluate how they view and treat women.
To those who question why Sana was active on social media or where her parents were, I ask you to look at the real problem. According to Islamabad-based NGO Sahil, 2,227 cases of child sexual abuse were reported in just the first half of one year. These victims include boys and girls, small children and elders. We can also look at the recent case of Zainab and other children who were raped and killed. So the danger lies not in social media but in the unchecked behavior of men.
Locking women inside their homes will not keep them safe. Women and children are raped and abused even within their own homes, often by family members. We need systemic change, not restrictions.
When we look at what is happening in Gilgit-Baltistan, it is no different. Almost every other day, we hear stories of honor killings or fake videos of women going viral, even involving female politicians. It has become a disturbing trend among some men to circulate fake content that puts women’s lives at risk. And when we speak out against it, we are accused of “destroying Gilgit-Baltistan’s culture.”
We need laws that cannot be overridden by wealth, status, or personal influence. We must abolish laws that allow family members to “forgive” murderers. There must be one standard of justice for all. No more criminals ruling our streets.
Protect your daughters and let them live in a society where they can thrive without fear.
Because a nation is truly judged by how it treats its women.
And we still have a long way to go.
