By Imtiaz Hussain
In the rural districts of Sindh, the persistence of so-called honor killings under the label of ‘Karo Kari’ continues to expose a deep fracture between law and lived reality. Despite legislative reform and public condemnation, human rights groups estimate that hundreds of people are killed each year, with many cases never entering official records. Fear, tribal pressure and the threat of retaliation combine to keep families silent, allowing a parallel system of violence to endure largely unchecked. Data compiled by the Sindh Police and the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan suggests that districts such as Kashmore, Jacobabad, Ghotki, Shikarpur, Larkana and Khairpur remain the epicenter of these killings.
The pattern is consistent and troubling. Women, labelled Kari, are overwhelmingly the victims, while men accused alongside them, known as ‘Karo’, are often spared or treated differently depending on tribal alignments. In recent years, observers have noted a shift in motive. What is presented as an issue of honor frequently conceals disputes over land, water and long-standing tribal rivalries, with violence against women serving as a proxy battleground. The social triggers are often mundane yet fatal. Women seeking divorce, choosing their own partners, or even engaging in ordinary social interaction can be marked for death. In such cases, the accusation itself becomes a verdict.
The involvement of rival tribes or families further complicates matters, turning personal autonomy into a pretext for collective retribution. The language of honor, in effect, masks a more transactional calculus rooted in power and control. At the center of this system lie informal tribal councils, or jirgas, which continue to operate despite being declared illegal by the Supreme Court of Pakistan in 2019. These gatherings, often convened in remote areas, function as parallel courts that pronounce women Kari and, in some instances, sanction killings or impose punitive fines. Their authority rests not on law but on custom, and in communities where state presence is weak, that authority can prove decisive.
Legal reform has attempted to close some of the most glaring loopholes. Amendments introduced in 2016 curtailed the misuse of Qisas and Diyat provisions, which had previously allowed perpetrators to escape punishment through familial pardons. Honor killings were reclassified as non-compoundable offences, carrying mandatory life imprisonment or the death penalty. Yet conviction rates remain low. Weak investigations, delayed first information reports and the reluctance of family members to testify continue to undermine prosecutions. In some cases, victims are buried without post-mortem examinations, effectively erasing critical evidence before the legal process can begin. The structural barriers are reinforced by poverty and limited access to education.
In many parts of rural Sindh, tribal customs retain greater authority than formal law, particularly where courts are distant and legal processes are poorly understood. Women’s economic dependence further constrains their ability to seek protection. The notion that female autonomy threatens male authority or family reputation remains deeply embedded, shaping both attitudes and outcomes. There have been efforts to respond. Provincial authorities have established women protection cells and helplines, while specialized police units have been deployed in high-risk districts. Civil society organizations, including the Aurat Foundation, Baanhn Beli and Legal Aid Society, have expanded awareness campaigns and legal support services. In the past two years, several high-profile arrests have followed sustained media attention, suggesting that visibility can still compel action.
Legislative discussions within the Sindh Assembly have also pointed towards curriculum reform and improved witness protection as part of a longer-term strategy. Yet activists argue that these measures, while necessary, are insufficient on their own. They call for fast-track courts to prevent evidence tampering, mandatory post-mortems in all suspected cases, and a system in which the state acts as the complainant rather than relying on families who may be complicit or intimidated. There are also demands for stricter enforcement against jirgas and for better police training to ensure cases are registered under appropriate legal provisions rather than diluted into lesser charges. Recent remarks by Khairpur’s senior police leadership underline the scale of the challenge.
The issue, as framed by officials on the ground, is not simply one of law enforcement but of dismantling entrenched networks that shield perpetrators. Until those networks are disrupted, accountability will remain selective. The persistence of ‘Karo Kari’ is, ultimately, a reflection of a broader imbalance in which a woman’s life can be weighed against land, status or suspicion. Legal statutes alone cannot resolve this tension. What is required is a sustained alignment between law, enforcement and social change. Each conviction secured, each jirga disbanded and each girl given access to education represents a small but tangible shift. Without such cumulative change, the cycle is likely to continue, sustained by silence as much as by violence.
(The writer is a senior journalist, writer, and analyst, highlighting social issues, can be reached at editorial@metro-morning.com)
