Before a woman is murdered in the name of honor in Pakistan, she is first sentenced—not by a court, but by language.
Every time a girl’s desire is painted as defiance, every time a boy is shamed for showing vulnerability with the taunt *“Larki ho kya?”*, and every time a proverb likens a woman to the dust under one’s shoe, society writes a quiet verdict: she is less. She is owned. She is disposable.
Language in Pakistan is not passive. It does not merely reflect our culture—it reinforces it. The way we speak about women shapes how we treat them. These expressions—casual, inherited, normalized—are not just words. They are weapons.
In 2023, more than 384 women were killed in so-called “honor” crimes, according to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan. Many cases never reach the news. Many victims are buried in silence. These are not isolated rural tragedies; they are social patterns woven deep into our collective psyche.
Why does this continue? Because violence against women in Pakistan does not begin with violence. It begins with ideology, and ideology begins with language. When *izzat* (honour) and *namoos* (dignity) are made contingent upon a woman’s conduct, when metaphors frame her as property, when proverbs turn into permissions, the path to violence is paved long before the act.
Academics have long noted this. Scholars like Teun van Dijk argue that discourse builds our social reality—what we think, what we accept, and what we do. Fairclough’s Critical Discourse Analysis reminds us that power hides in language. If we want change, we must change the words before we change the laws.
To its credit, the Pakistani state has taken legal steps. The 2016 law that closed loopholes for honor killing pardons was a vital moment. But legislation alone cannot dismantle generations of moral conditioning. Implementation remains weak. Worse, the rhetoric of honor still finds defenders in drawing rooms, pulpits, and primetime broadcasts.
This is a moment of reckoning—not just for lawmakers, but for journalists, educators, parents, and religious leaders. It is time to reframe the discourse.
Honor is not dishonored by a woman’s choice. Masculinity is not diminished by compassion. Culture is not preserved through cruelty. Let us be clear: there is no honor in murder.
We call upon Pakistan’s government to invest in public awareness campaigns that deconstruct toxic metaphors, reform educational curricula, and retrain media institutions in gender-sensitive reporting. We urge civil society to challenge everyday expressions that dehumanize women. And we appeal to religious and cultural leaders to reclaim the narrative—not to protect patriarchy, but to protect life.
The fight against honor killings cannot be fought with laws alone. It must be fought with language—one sentence at a time.
Before the act of killing, there is a sentence.
Let us rewrite it.
