A woman’s right to live with dignity, to love without fear, and to walk through the world without having to justify her existence should never be up for debate. Yet in Pakistan, these rights are too often withheld, questioned, or violently taken away. Here, a woman’s freedom is viewed as a provocation, her voice as defiance, and her choices as rebellion against a moral code that exists solely to control her. This is not morality, it is patriarchy dressed in piety. And its most brutal manifestation is when a woman is murdered, and society asks why she was there, instead of why she was killed.
The case of Noor Mukadam was not just a horrific crime .it was a mirror held up to a nation that still believes a woman’s death can be explained by her lifestyle. Noor, a young woman with dreams, with autonomy, and with trust in a long-time friend, was tortured and beheaded by Zahir Jaffer inside his own home. And still, people asked whether she was in a relationship with him, as if that justified the savagery of her end. Even some judges weighed in on her personal life, invoking “religion and morality” not to condemn the killer, but to cast suspicion on the victim. How many more women must be buried before we understand that character is not a condition for justice?
Why is trauma recognized only when it excuses male behavior, but not when it explains female survival?
It took months of public pressure, courtroom drama, and relentless perseverance from Noor’s family to secure a verdict. Zahir Jaffer was finally sentenced to death, and the Supreme Court upheld the decision. But justice, in its truest form, is more than a punishment it is a culture, a conscience, a collective reckoning. And our justice system remains slow, fractured, and deeply gendered.
This isn’t new. Mukhtaran Mai’s rapists were acquitted after a decade of legal battles, despite international outrage. Sarah Inam, killed by her husband, is still waiting for final justice. Countless unnamed women face the same fate in silence, their stories buried not just by their killers but by the system that should have protected them. The law moves slowly in Pakistan, but it moves even slower when the victim is a woman and the accused is powerful.
In Noor’s case, we witnessed a deeply familiar pattern attempts to delay the trial by framing Zahir Jaffer as mentally unfit. This excuse, wrapped in pseudo-medical language, was accepted into the discourse because he was male, wealthy, and well-connected. We must ask: why is it always men who are suddenly “mentally disturbed” after committing violence? Why are women never afforded this narrative? Why is trauma recognized only when it excuses male behavior, but not when it explains female survival?
Zahir Jaffer was no lunatic. He was a licensed counselor, delivering mental health sessions in elite schools and running a wellness business alongside his mother. His actions were not the result of illness but of unchecked entitlement, enabled by privilege and a culture that protects men until they kill.
Our obsession with controlling women’s choices has cost lives
This case also exposed the role of silence and complicity. The servants who stopped Noor from escaping. The parents who reportedly knew but did not intervene. The social circles that dismissed warning signs. And perhaps worst of all, a segment of society that still debates what Noor was doing in his house, instead of confronting the brutality that took place there. Our obsession with controlling women’s choices has cost lives. We do not raise our boys to respect women; we raise them to believe they own them. We forgive their rage, excuse their violence, and only hold them accountable when the public refuses to look away.
But we must not look away. Noor Mukadam’s name must not be remembered as part of a courtroom file or a news cycle. Her story must become a turning point a refusal to let another woman’s death be explained away by religion, culture, or so-called morality. The question isn’t whether Noor made a mistake. The question is: what kind of society raises a man who believes he has the right to kill when a woman says no?
To truly honor Noor, we must demand reform at every level legal, educational, cultural. We need gender-sensitive judges, swift trials for gender-based violence, and police who serve victims, not connections. We must create a society where daughters are not taught to remain silent, but where sons are taught to never make them feel unsafe.
The death of one woman cannot change a nation. But the outrage it ignites, the conversations it provokes, and the courage it inspires can. Noor Mukadam’s voice was silenced. It is our duty now to speak not just for her, but for every woman who still lives in fear.If we truly believe in justice, we must start by believing women. Not after they die but while they are still alive to be protected.
