In a sweltering courtroom this month, justice itself seemed to wither away. Four men stood bound as the judge pronounced their sentence: death by hanging. Their crime? A single Facebook post. A few keystrokes, a fleeting moment of digital dissent, and their lives were forfeit. Their lawyer, Manzoor Rahmani, decried the verdict as “judicial surrender to the mob.” But surrender is too mild a word. It smacks of collusion between a court too frightened of mob reprisals and a system that thrives on terror.
Pakistan’s blasphemy laws are increasingly being treated as public lynchings masquerading in judicial robes. Enshrined in Sections 295-B and 295-C of our Pakistan Penal Code, these provisions were forged in the fire of the 1980s under General Zia-ul-Haq—a gift to extremists that has since mutated into a franchise of retribution. In our courts today, a report filed by a “concerned citizen,” often nothing more than a personal vendetta or a vigilante’s ploy, can set off a rushed trial where the burden of proof is measured not in facts but in the accuser’s piety.
Yet, this case is only the latest chapter in a long, horrifying saga. In Lahore’s upscale Gulberg market, a young Youtuber launched a perfume called “295,” a sardonic nod to the very code that condemns him. Within hours, the hashtag #HangTheBlasphemer exploded on Twitter. A society that prosecutes even fragrance is a state where creativity itself is deemed heresy.
These laws have exacted a brutal toll on our society. In Sargodha, a Christian woman died in police custody after being accused of burning Islamic texts, her autopsy revealing signs of torture. Her children now wait outside the police station that once confined her. In Gojra, a mob burned eight Christians alive over baseless rumours of Quran desecration. Rumours were later debunked, yet lives were lost. And while minority communities bear the brunt of this injustice, the threat spares no one. In Karachi, a Sunni cleric weaponized a blasphemy charge to usurp control of his rival’s mosque; in Peshawar, a bitter land dispute between cousins ended with one slapping a blasphemy case on the other. The accusation, wielded like a bullet, turns every citizen into a potential target.
Our judiciary, draped in black robes yet paralyzed by fear of mob vengeance, has become a theater of capitulation. Take the harrowing case of Mashal Khan—a university student brutally lynched in 2017 over unfounded blasphemy allegations. Though the High Court posthumously acquitted him, the message was stark: it is deemed safer to condemn the innocent than to risk the wrath of a fervent public.
International bodies such as the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) have long condemned our blasphemy laws, noting in their 2023 report that over 2,100 cases have been registered. Yet, while the West decries our legal brutality, similar violations elsewhere sometimes escape equal scrutiny, underscoring that our suffering is as much a domestic failure as it is a target of selective global outrage.
The palpable silence evident in the hushed conversations and the self-censorship of writers revising manuscripts for “risky” language speaks of a nation too frightened to think openly. Journalists have learned to omit the truth, to mask dissent behind allegory, while those who dare expose extremist networks end up dead.
Reform, then, is not an act of betrayal of our faith. Pakistan must raise the standard of proof for blasphemy charges, define with clarity what constitutes a transgression, and provide robust protection for the accused. Public jury trials, severe penalties for false accusations, and the disbanding of vigilante groups are urgent reforms that our society so desperately needs. Our politicians, ensnared by extremist vote banks, must risk public ire to ensure that justice serves the people rather than the mob.
The true cost of these laws is measured not in fines or court sentences but in the lives lost and the dreams shattered. Until we dismantle this apparatus of intolerance, Pakistan will remain a nation held hostage by fear: a land where the very act of speaking the truth can be a death sentence. The choice, stark and unforgiving, is ours: to sever the noose or allow it to tighten until nothing remains.