When Conscience Dies: The Baloch Girl Who Walked to Her Execution
A girl in Balochistan walked to her death. Gracefully. Quietly. With resolve that should have shaken the institutions of this republic. But no thunder came. No tremor of justice followed.
Her execution was not unique. It was a reflection of what we’ve become: a nation where men in jirgas decide fates, where love is a crime, and where women have less protection than livestock.
She faced her killers with words that will haunt our national memory: “Sum īna ijāzat ae namey” — you only have permission to shoot. That is all our daughters can demand now. Not freedom. Not safety. Not justice. Just the dignity to die on their own terms.
Why are these crimes still happening? Because the killers know the law won’t touch them. Because police protect the powerful, not the vulnerable. Because we accept silence as tradition. Because neither the Chief Minister of Balochistan nor the Interior Minister of Pakistan have faced the nation with answers.
It is time to demand accountability. Ban jirgas. Reform laws. Prosecute the murderers. Hold public servants to their oath.
The world is watching. God is watching. And most of all, history is watching.
She did not die.
She walked — veil fixed, shoulders steady, lips silent — into the blazing barrel of man-made pride.
And in that one final march, she shattered the last illusions of our collective morality.
Her name we may never know.
But we all know her.
She was the daughter of this soil.
And we buried her — not with shovels, but with silence.
Where Girls Are Born Only to Be Buried
In Balochistan — and across Pakistan — girls are not raised, they are erased.
Not nurtured, but negotiated.
Not protected, but punished.
For dreaming. For speaking. For choosing.
For simply existing with a voice of their own.
The girl in the now-circulating video was not murdered. She was executed.
Executed for love.
Executed for dignity.
Executed for daring to be more than what her killers could control.
She faced them — men with guns, hearts of stone, and egos as fragile as glass.
She did not beg. She did not cry.
She stood tall and said,
"Sum īna ijāzat ae namey."
"You only have permission to shoot."
And so they did.
But with those bullets, something else died:
Our laws.
Our faith.
Our humanity.
Our soul as a nation.
This Is Not Balochistan’s Shame Alone — It Is Pakistan’s
From Kohistan to Karachi, from the deserts of Sindh to the heart of Punjab,
The pattern is familiar. The story is unchanged.
Babies shot for being girls.
Teenagers stoned for loving.
Sisters slain for choosing their own husbands.
Qandeel Baloch. The Kohistan girls. Thousands unnamed. Thousands silenced.
This is not about culture.
This is not Islam.
This is not honor.
This is cold-blooded, state-tolerated misogyny.
And we — who scroll, who nod, who forget — we are all complicit.
The Inferno of Our Institutions
The hell Pakistani women endure is not born only in homes or customs.
It is enforced by the state.
- Police that refuse to act.
- Courts that delay justice until memory fades.
- Clerics that remain silent — or worse, supportive.
- Politicians who utter hollow statements but take no action.
- Media that moves on after a few headlines.
- A public that forgets until the next daughter falls.
What kind of country allows illegal jirgas to overrule its constitution?
What kind of republic watches its daughters die — and does nothing?
The Blood Is on Every Hand That Stayed Silent
Interior Minister.
Chief Minister of Balochistan.
Inspector General of Police.
Resign.
You failed her. You failed millions like her.
You did not just allow a murder — you allowed a message to be sent:
That a girl’s life is cheap. That killers will be protected. That daughters have no state, no law, and no hope.
The blood that seeped into the dust that day has stained your offices forever.
No More Silence. No More Pity. No More Excuses.
We don’t want condolences.
We demand change.
- Outlaw all forms of informal tribal justice.
- Federally prosecute every honor killing — no exceptions, no deals.
- Fast-track courts for gender-based violence.
- Mandatory police training on gender sensitivity.
- National emergency helplines with real-time action.
- State-funded shelters, legal aid, psychological support for survivors.
- And above all — education.
Teach our girls that survival is not enough — they deserve freedom.
A Call to Women — And to the World
To every woman reading this:
Do not lower your gaze.
Do not apologize for your voice.
Do not carry the shame that belongs to your oppressors.
To the UN Secretary-General, global media, human rights watchdogs:
This is not folklore. It is now. It is filmed. It is documented.
Silence is complicity.
Your press releases are not enough.
We need pressure. Sanctions. Oversight. Justice.
The Final Verdict
The girl who walked to her death did not perish in vain.
Her silence thundered louder than every sermon.
Her poise towered higher than every parliament.
Her death was not the end of her story —
It was the end of ours, unless we begin again.
She didn’t ask to be remembered.
She asked only for the right to live.
And in the end —
She did not need our permission to become eternal.
You pulled the trigger.
But she buried your honor.
