Arshad Mahmood Awan
We are living in an age where public humiliation can be instant, irreversible, and devastating. The rise of digital media and toxic online environments has eroded the basic norms of civility. In Pakistan, this phenomenon is being compounded by a disturbing trend: law enforcement officers weaponising digital platforms to shame and violate the dignity of ordinary citizens.
A harrowing example emerged last month from Kasur, where police raided what they claimed was an “illegal rave party” and arrested 55 men and women. Among the detainees was a female social media influencer whose video, recorded inside a local police station, was later circulated widely on social media. This act has subjected her to public disgrace and what may well become a lifelong burden of shame. The incident sparked outrage, leading to the suspension of five police officers. Yet this is not merely about individual misconduct — it exposes a systemic failure in how Pakistan manages both law enforcement and digital rights.
The Constitution of Pakistan, in Article 14, guarantees the inviolability of personal dignity. Despite this, the use of videos for public shaming by police officers is becoming increasingly common. Instead of upholding justice, parts of the police force are exploiting vulnerable and underprivileged citizens, often showcasing these ‘achievements’ online as badges of honour. This misuse of digital tools by state authorities to gain public approval or assert dominance reflects a gross misuse of power, undermining the very principles of law and justice.
Punjab, in particular, has seen a surge in such incidents, due in large part to the absence of an effective mechanism for online accountability. There is no credible reporting or redress system to monitor and regulate the digital behaviour of law enforcement officers. The existing Punjab police rules are clear: officers are prohibited from recording or distributing any video content that reveals the identity of suspects or those under investigation. But these guidelines are routinely ignored, turning digital evidence into tools of coercion, humiliation, and abuse.
The deeper danger lies in the lack of institutional reform and political will to tackle this problem head-on. Suspension of officers after public uproar is not enough. What Pakistan urgently needs is a dedicated cybercrime response force within law enforcement — trained, resourced, and accountable. This includes specialised cyber-patrolling teams, the establishment of secure and responsive complaint systems, and strict internal monitoring to identify rogue elements within the force.
Cyber harassment is not a fleeting problem; it leaves permanent scars. Even when individuals are found not guilty or released without charge, their online presence is haunted by viral content that can damage careers, reputations, and mental health. For women, particularly, this humiliation is often magnified by deeply ingrained social stigmas and gender biases, leading to isolation, psychological trauma, and even suicidal tendencies. These are not just violations of personal dignity — they are human rights abuses, facilitated by the very institutions meant to protect citizens.
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Moreover, the government’s disproportionate focus on internet surveillance — often under the guise of national security — does little to address the root causes of cybercrime. Rather than policing online content arbitrarily, efforts must be redirected toward reforming law enforcement agencies themselves. A morally upright and professionally trained police force is far more effective in preventing crime than any mass surveillance program.
This issue is also a reflection of Pakistan’s broader structural dysfunction. Accountability mechanisms remain weak, oversight is virtually nonexistent, and legal protections for digital privacy and personal dignity are not enforced with seriousness. As a result, officers who should be upholding the law feel emboldened to act above it. Until that changes, ordinary citizens — especially those from marginalised communities — will continue to suffer.
Unchecked, this kind of behaviour contributes to a toxic cycle of abuse. Victims of public shaming and bullying may turn into offenders themselves, perpetuating the same online violence they once endured. This erosion of empathy and decency is a social time bomb. Anger, trauma, and social alienation are not confined to the digital world — they manifest in real-world violence, extremism, and societal fragmentation.
The government must act urgently. This includes introducing legal amendments to strengthen protections against digital humiliation, expanding the role and independence of cybercrime units, and most importantly, institutionalising transparency and accountability within the police. A dedicated mechanism should allow victims to file complaints anonymously and receive timely redress. Officers who violate the code of conduct must be prosecuted, not just suspended.
Finally, there must be a nationwide campaign to educate both law enforcement and the public about digital ethics, human dignity, and the consequences of online harassment. The internet should be a space for communication, creativity, and civic participation — not a tool for punishment by humiliation.
If Pakistan is to progress as a democratic society governed by the rule of law, the dignity of every citizen must be protected — not just on paper, but in practice. The current failure to do so is not just a technological or legal problem. It is a moral crisis.
