Tahir Maqsood Chheena

Pakistan’s turbulent political history is replete with examples of resistance against state overreach, but one enduring feature remains: women political activists have consistently stood firm in the face of repression. From military regimes to democratic backsliding, no amount of force or intimidation has been able to break the political resolve of women who challenge the status quo. Yet, as the country navigates another period of unrest, it appears the state has chosen to intensify its suppression—particularly targeting politically active women with a disturbing combination of legal manipulation and public shaming.

This trend is not speculative—it is manifest in the cases of prominent female political prisoners. Consider the plight of Dr. Mahrang Baloch, a key voice in the Baloch Yakjehti Committee. Her arrest three months ago drew significant concern, and when the Balochistan High Court rejected her bail in April, it wasn’t due to evidence of criminal wrongdoing. Rather, the state’s justification—articulated by the province’s Advocate General—was that her release could “cause unrest.” Such reasoning is alarmingly subjective, turning the concept of justice into a weapon rather than a safeguard. Worse still, the military’s media arm, the DG ISPR, publicly labelled her a “proxy of terrorists,” cementing her guilt in the public eye without a trial—a dangerous departure from democratic norms.

Dr. Mahrang’s case is not isolated. Dr. Yasmin Rashid, a septuagenarian politician and a respected medical professional, remains incarcerated despite her age and deteriorating health. Alongside her, PTI’s Punjab organiser Aliya Hamza and political activist Sanam Javed were recently sent back to jail. Taken together, these instances illustrate not merely isolated injustices, but a systemic attempt to marginalise women who dare to engage politically—especially those who speak against dominant narratives or align with dissenting movements.

This state-led crackdown invites an uncomfortable question: is Pakistan moving backwards in its treatment of politically engaged women? The deliberate silencing of these voices—through incarceration, denial of bail, or public vilification—signals a regressive political culture that sees women’s political agency not as a democratic right but as a threat to order. Such a mindset not only violates constitutional guarantees but also perpetuates misogyny within state institutions.

Targeting women political workers under the guise of national security or public stability only deepens the sense of alienation among already marginalised communities. In provinces like Balochistan, where grievances have festered for decades, using detention and smear campaigns to discredit women activists like Mahrang Baloch undermines any remaining hopes of reconciliation. These are not mere symbolic arrests—they represent the state’s unwillingness to engage with legitimate demands through dialogue and justice.

The consequences of this approach are grave. A state that responds to dissent with coercion risks not only eroding public trust but also unravelling the fragile fabric of national unity. Political leadership, particularly in times of external conflict—as recently witnessed during hostilities with India—must prioritise internal cohesion. That begins with treating political dissent as a legitimate component of democracy, not as an act of subversion. Women who rally for political causes, even if controversial, must be heard, not handcuffed.

Pakistan’s leadership must realise that suppressing female political voices will neither win public support nor ensure long-term political stability. In fact, it may do the opposite. Jailing women without due process sends a chilling message to half the population: that political participation is conditional on silence and submission. It discourages civic engagement, undermines democratic participation, and entrenches authoritarianism.

There are legal and moral obligations the state cannot continue to ignore. Pakistan’s Constitution guarantees equality before the law and prohibits discrimination on the basis of gender. Furthermore, international conventions signed by Pakistan—such as the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW)—obligate the country to protect and uphold women’s rights in all spheres, including politics. The justice system must therefore rise above political pressures and ensure that women accused of crimes are afforded the due protections outlined in law—particularly in matters of bail, healthcare, and humane treatment.

To be clear, this is not a call for leniency towards those who commit violence or terrorism. The state has every right to pursue and neutralise militants or separatists operating outside the bounds of law. However, it must also ensure that such actions are grounded in evidence, due process, and transparency. Conflating peaceful activism with insurgency, and branding dissenting women as enemies of the state, will only fuel further alienation and radicalisation.

The current approach does more than harm individuals—it weakens the state’s own moral authority. It strips legitimacy from law enforcement, politicises the judiciary, and breeds public cynicism. Moreover, it fails to recognise the vital role women have played in Pakistan’s political evolution—from Fatima Jinnah to Asma Jahangir, from Benazir Bhutto to the countless unnamed women who marched, protested, and voted with conviction. To now treat politically active women as liabilities rather than assets is a betrayal of this legacy.

There is still time to course-correct. The government must immediately review the cases of all female political detainees and ensure that no woman is held without fair trial or legal justification. Where laws have been misused, they must be reformed. Where political motives have driven arrests, they must be exposed. National dialogue must include women—not just as symbols of inclusion but as legitimate political actors.

The media also has a responsibility here. Sensationalist portrayals of women activists as traitors or terrorists contribute to a toxic narrative that discourages female participation in public life. Instead, the media must hold power to account and amplify calls for justice, transparency, and democratic norms.

Pakistan faces complex challenges—economic instability, security threats, and deep political polarisation. But suppressing women who choose to be part of the solution will only deepen these crises. It is not weakness to listen to dissent; it is strength. A state confident in its legitimacy should have no fear of dialogue, especially with those it governs.

In conclusion, the state’s ongoing crackdown on women political activists is not only a moral and legal misstep—it is a strategic blunder. True national unity will not come through coercion, but through inclusion. If Pakistan is to move forward, it must embrace the political agency of its women—not jail it.