Our grief is not justice

The rot that killed Sana Yousaf was never hiding

They say history is a great teacher.

Unless, of course, we are talking about the treatment of women in Pakistan. In that case, the lessons rarely seem to stick. It is not that we forget what happened. In fact, on May 20 when the Supreme Court upheld Zahir Jaffer’s death sentence, we proudly reposted ‘#JusticeForNoor’. We like the same photo of Zainab Ansari that makes the rounds on social media on her death anniversary, as many still comment that her killer should have been publicly hanged. We even speak of Qandeel Baloch’s name with bated breath, recounting how unfortunate it was every time we see her picture make it back to our timeline.

And now, we chant for 17-year-old Sana Yousaf. We demand the harshest punishment for her killer, calling for his swift execution, insisting that he be made an example of. We post her pictures with teary captions, share videos of her smiling, and ask: how a girl so young could be taken so violently.

Outrage, by now, is a choreography we have learned by heart. And we really do mean it.

And still, there is always another girl. And then another. And then another.

And make no mistake, there always will be.

Because ours is not a history of lessons learned – it is rot that keeps returning, like a cancer that festers in any corner it can find.

‘Jaisi karni, waisi bharni’

Allow us to demonstrate. On June 3, just hours after it was confirmed that Sana’s murder was an act of hatred by Umar Hayat for rejecting his “friendship” proposal, social media was flooded with supportive comments. However, as the story goes, the sceptics eventually began to creep. One comment appeared. Then another. Then a third. But why was she on TikTok to begin with? Where are her parents? She must have had some involvement in this.

What started as a clear case of rage on femicide by any definition of the word, swiftly flattened into a PR-friendly lecture on how girls should behave. Inevitably, rolling the red carpet for everyone’s favorite pseudo-moralists, who, true to form, reach for their most iron-clad, tight-fisted defence: the Islam card. This ranged from throwaway one-liners about the necessity of modesty, casually dropped into comment sections, to full-blown fanatics spewing the most vile vitriol, calling for the swift “erasure” (being generous here) of all such women, because they are the ones spreading “fahaashi”, leading society astray and betraying the word of God.

Ironically, they consistently fail to acknowledge what Islam actually teaches: that there is no compulsion in religion, that justice is sacred, and that the burden of wrongdoing lies not on the victim, but the oppressor. But nuance, of course, rarely trends.

Neither does picking a side, because celebrities with mammothian platforms, sweeped in at just the right time to provide half-baked statements of condemnation while simultaneously preaching the dangers of social media, the importance of privacy, and how young girls should be careful. Only a few and far between had the courage to call a spade a spade: a man felt entitled to a girl’s life and he took it.

It is not just the social media echo chamber that is pushing this narrative, too. Just last week, Justice Ali Baqir Najafi stood in the Supreme Court, following Jaffer’s sentencing and described Noor’s case as a warning against live-in relationships. Unfortunate and disgusting sure, but a cautionary tale, nevertheless. And so, the case of a woman who was tortured, killed, and beheaded became, somehow, a parable about lifestyle choices inviting danger.

And the cancer does not stop at the courtroom. We saw this unfold in real time with the Dua Zehra case, where large media outlets and mainstream journalists after expressing their concerns, speculated on her character, questioned her sanity, painted her as rebellious, and amplified every salacious detail they could find.

Our silent complicity