What is honourable about it? The Execution of Sheetal and Zarak in Balochistan
A story of courage, silence, and the systemic tolerance of honour-based violence
In early July 2025, a harrowing tragedy unfolded in the remote Deghari district of Balochistan, Pakistan. Sheetal (also known as Bano Bibi) and Ahsan Ullah Zarak, a young couple who chose to marry without the consent of their families, were publicly executed by armed men. The order came from a tribal jirga—an extra-legal council still influential in many rural regions of Pakistan. What made this act even more horrifying was the calm, ceremonial nature of their killing, captured on video and circulated widely on social media.
In the footage, Sheetal holds a Quran and boldly asserts the legality of her marriage, instructing her would-be executioner to “walk seven steps with me, then you can only shoot me.” Seconds later, she is gunned down at close range. Zarak is also killed shortly after. Both executions took place in broad daylight, surrounded by silent bystanders.
The video ignited nationwide and international outrage. Authorities moved swiftly—at least 11 suspects, including the tribal elder who sanctioned the killings, were arrested. But for those familiar with the landscape of honour-based violence in Pakistan, the questions remain painfully familiar: Will there be justice? Will this case be different?
According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), there were at least 405 reported honour killings in 2024 alone. This figure is likely an underestimation, as many such crimes go unreported or are disguised as accidents or disappearances. Despite legal reforms—such as the removal of family forgiveness clauses that previously allowed killers to walk free—enforcement remains inconsistent. In tribal regions like Balochistan, customary law often holds more sway than constitutional law, and jirgas continue to wield terrifying influence.
In such contexts, the concept of honour (ghairat) is inseparably tied to a woman’s body, her choices, and her autonomy. When she dares to act outside familial or tribal expectations—whether by marrying for love, dressing differently, or asserting her independence—she is seen as a threat to the moral fabric of the community. And punishment often follows.
The Justification Narrative: “She Was Already Married”
After the murder of Sheetal and Zarak, reports emerged suggesting that Sheetal had previously been married and had five children. These details weren’t shared to foster empathy or understanding—they were weaponised. The implication was clear: she violated societal norms, and thus her killing, while tragic, was somehow justifiable.
Such narratives are not innocent. They shift the burden from the perpetrator to the victim. Instead of asking why a young couple was executed without due process, we are encouraged to scrutinise the victim’s history, her decisions, and her morality. These justifications perpetuate a dangerous idea—that women who step outside the box deserve what they get.
Institutional Inertia and the Culture of Impunity
Public outrage often comes in waves. The videos shock us. The news spreads. Arrests are made. But what happens next?
How many such cases lead to convictions? How many tribal elders issuing death sentences are imprisoned? How many politicians follow through on their condemnations with actual policy change?
The answer is grim. In many instances, investigations stall, witnesses are intimidated, and perpetrators are pardoned through loopholes. Jirgas, despite being declared unconstitutional, continue to operate with impunity. And even when formal legal systems are invoked, patriarchal values within those systems often reproduce the same biases.
Let’s be clear: honour-based violence is not a cultural anomaly—it is a tool. A mechanism of control. It keeps women "in place" and reinforces a gender hierarchy that sees autonomy as a threat.
This isn’t unique to Pakistan. From so-called “crimes of passion” in Latin America, to femicide in Europe, to the honour killings of Qandeel Baloch, Samia Shahid, and Farzana Parveen in Pakistan—this violence is global. The terminology may vary, but the underlying logic remains: when women assert agency over their bodies and lives, they risk punishment.
And these punishments are rarely spontaneous. They are planned. Systematically carried out. Normalised.
When discussions arise about the use of artificial intelligence, transparency, and data ethics, we often hear the phrase: “We need to know how people are using these tools.” But let’s pause and ask: for what purpose? How will this data be used?
A similar question applies here: if we already know that hundreds of women are killed each year in the name of honour, what more data do we need to act?
Are we collecting statistics for reports that no one reads? Are we passing laws without ensuring implementation? Are we speaking out only when a case goes viral?
If we're honest, the problem isn’t ignorance—it’s inaction.
The Questions We Should Be Asking
Instead of asking if Sheetal was married before, let’s ask:
Why does that matter in determining whether she should live?
Why does honour remain a gendered concept applied only to women’s actions?
Why are extrajudicial bodies like jirgas still allowed to determine life and death?
Why does silence follow every wave of outrage?
And most importantly:
Why are we, as a society, more comfortable policing women’s morality than confronting male violence?
Honour-based violence thrives in silence, in complicity, and in the illusion of moral justification. But nothing—no tradition, no religion, no tribal code—can justify murder.
If a young woman standing with the Quran in her hand can declare her right to live, even in the face of certain death, then surely the rest of us can stand up and demand that her life, and Zarak’s life, not be forgotten.
We owe them more than outrage. We owe them justice.