Tehreem Azeem

Faizi was assigned male gender at birth in Toba Tek Singh, Punjab, Pakistan. But over time, her family realized she was not behaving typically for either binary gender. She was a trans person. She spent her whole childhood struggling to understand her own identity while facing harassment from those around her.

As a child, Faizi underwent the worst forms of violence. When she would go outside of her house, boys would chase and grope her and shout slurs like “hijra.” She would run back to her house as fast as possible.

At family gatherings, she would draw curious stares and roving hands, trying to solve the “mystery” of her body. Her male cousins even hatched plans to see something revealing while swimming together.

Transgender individuals in Pakistan face shocking levels of targeted violence and discrimination rooted in transphobia. Nearly 90% endure some form of physical or sexual abuse in their lifetimes, often at the hands of their own family members. They are often kicked out of their homes for embracing their identities. Many of those go to the nearby transgender community, where they are welcomed warmly. But sadly, the society has not much to offer to them. They are forced to do begging or sex work to earn a living. This frequently leads to further assault. They are murdered brutally by unknowns. They face public harassment in routine. They are raped at private parties where they are invited to perform. This violence persists due to societal prejudice around gender and lack of legal protections for marginalized groups.

Figuring out the societal behaviour

Even at a young age, Faizi understood the treatment she endured from elders was wrong. Over time, she realized she had survived multiple forms of violence.

“Children are the easiest victims since they know nothing of the world. The violence in my life began in childhood. Ours is a male-dominated society where men consider harassment of women their right. I endured even more because of my then-unknown gender identity, though they sensed it,” she said.

Her School also offered no respite to her. Placed in the boys’ section, Faizi faced relentless torment from male classmates who chased, groped, and assaulted her. They would hurl footballs at her body, strip off her pants, and circle around her while unleashing slurs. Sometimes, they would go after her in the bathroom and forcefully hug her to feel her growing body.

“Our parents do the greatest injustice to us by imposing masculinity on us and then sending us into a male world. It’s like serving predators their preferred feast. Trans youth would be safer if they were raised as girls. It would spare them the pain and misery they face from men,” she reflected.

Gender-based violence permeates Pakistan, though it's often narrowly viewed as only impacting cisgender women. In reality, violence extends across genders, afflicting trans people, intersex individuals, non-binary people and more. Women do possess one advantage - societal space to openly discuss their struggles. Organizations fighting for women’s rights in Pakistan can operate visibly, raise voice for them and press the government for protective laws. But for those seen as "lesser" beings pervading social stigma, speaking out proves tremendously difficult. Even young boys and men stay silent, lest they appear "not man enough" to admit vulnerability.

My teachers harassed me

Throughout her education, Faizi endured harassment from teachers seeking to exploit her. In school, the male teachers would call her to the staff room, where they would try to touch her inappropriately. The same pattern continued in college. A teacher openly asked her for sexual favours. Upon refusal, he made college time toughest for Faizi. He did not even allow her to appear in two examinations of intermediate. She later passed the supplementary examinations and went to Faisalabad for an undergraduate degree at Government College University Faisalabad.

The first challenge she faced there was getting a hostel room at the university. The hostel administration did not know where to send her, either to the women’s hostel or to the men’s hostel. They kept sending her from one place to another till she got tired and sat outside in the rain with her luggage.

“When I arrived that night, they shuffled me back and forth between the boys’ and girls’ hostels. I ended up sitting outside in the rain with my luggage. In the morning, I approached the Vice Chancellor and gave him an application to allot me a hostel at the campus. He was kind. He took immediate action and allotted me a VIP room. He also waived off hostel expenses for me. He also told the cafeteria not to charge me for food and drinks during my stay at the university,” she recalled.

I was disowned because of my gender

Faizi’s family asked her to leave the house when she was just thirteen years old. She still remembers the day. Talking about it, she said that day, a group of transgenders had come to our area to celebrate the birth of a boy. Like everyone, she also went out of the house. One of the transgenders recognized her. She gave her a note with her address and some money. Faizi was confused, but the transgender knew what was coming her way.

“She said that a time will come when your family forces you to leave your house. They would not keep you. That time, don't go anywhere, just come to this address. I thought she was crazy. I was settled in my own world. That was my family and my house. Why would they kick me out of the house? But it happened the same evening,” she said.

In the evening, a neighbour complained to her family that they had seen her talking to the transgenders. Her family got angry. The boys were already after her. The relatives and others were also mocking her family. They told her to leave the house, and she left.

She went to that address where she was received happily. Her guru was extremely kind to her. She helped her complete her education. After completing her undergraduate, she went to Islamabad to do her MPhil in Urdu from Allama Iqbal Open University. Once again, she had to figure out a place for her living. She posted about the struggle on her Facebook. The post went viral and reached a woman who was doing a Ph.D. at the same university. She contacted her and told her to come to her house instead of wasting time hunting for a safe place. She went to her. She says that the woman helped her a lot.

Fighting against the system

She helped her file a petition at the court demanding the government to consider transgender as equal citizens and give them the right to get permanent jobs as teachers in colleges and universities. Faizi won the case, but she couldn't pass the lecturer's examination of the Punjab Public Service Commission (PPSC). However, she has been teaching since 2011. She did her B.Ed. from Lahore. After that, she got an internship at a government school. She taught there for one year, and then she taught in some government and private colleges for several years. She also taught in some private tuition centres. She is Pakistan's first trans teacher.

Faizi is now working as a victim spot officer in a protection center developed by Punjab police in the district of Toba Tek Singh. She wants to go back to teaching. She is planning to get admission in a PhD program in Urdu at university, and after completion of her PhD, she will apply for jobs in the university

I was molested as a child

Ali Rehman,* a businessman from Lahore, was molested as a child at a local Islamic seminary. He does not talk about it anymore due to the social stigma attached to it, but the trauma is there.

"It was difficult for me to talk about this," he said. "People often think men cannot be victims of violence. But it does happen to us."

According to the recent report of a nongovernmental organization Saahil, an average of 12 children per day faced sexual abuse in Pakistan in 2023. The report further revealed that younger boys had suffered abuse more than younger girls. Saahil collects these incidents from newspapers. Hence, the real situation could be even worse. Many incidents of violence against younger boys occur in seminaries. Ali recalls his own experience as a seminary student when a teacher attempted to coerce him sexually.

"One day, a teacher called me to his house for what I thought was work. But when I arrived, he was sitting there naked. I immediately ran away," Ali said. "I was scared to tell anyone since I’d never heard of a boy reporting such things, especially to parents."

Toxic masculinity attitudes in Pakistan often prevent male victims from reporting sexual violence. Seeking justice is seen as a shameful weakness rather than a tremendous strength. Victimhood also triggers feelings of humiliation due to cultural notions linking "honour" to macho dominance. Most, thus, stay silent, leaving psychological trauma unaddressed as systems ignore male vulnerability.

Ali, however, told the incident to some of his classmates, who he says to date make fun of him. They mock the traumatic experience, laughing at his "missed opportunity" whenever the seminary name surfaces in their conversations.

“Fifteen years have passed since this incident. The friends whom I told about the incident at that time still make fun of me asking what would have happened if I had stayed there. Then they laugh. I don't even repeat this incident now, but whenever the name of this teacher comes up, or the name of the seminary comes up, my friends start making fun of me, saying that he was crazy about you,” he added.

"Sadly, rigid gender norms and toxic views of masculinity fuel violence against marginalized groups in our society," explains Shermeen Bano, a sociology professor at FC College Lahore. "It's not just restricted to women—men and transgender individuals are also disempowered and dehumanized due to their gender identity."

Shermeen traces the roots of this systemic issue in Pakistan to deep patriarchal attitudes and structures of inequality engraved into the fabric of society. She says the gender against violence in our society happens at different levels.

"It happens at the individual level, within family and community networks, as well as societal and state levels. Those seen as lacking power or dignity due to their gender identity become targets. For transgender individuals, violence and restricted rights stem from their failure to conform to the gender binary. Male victims also lack power—strength is equated to masculinity, so sexual abuse of men and boys goes unacknowledged," she said.

Dr Rubeena Zakar, a Public Health professor at the University of Punjab, while talking about Gender-based violence in Pakistan especially one targeted at those who are not women, said that many of those cases go unreported. Even the cases of violence against women go unreported.

“When you see incidents of gender-based violence in the media, they are against women. But the violence against men, we will not say that it does not happen, but it does happen. Incidents of violence by women against men are very few, but incidents of violence against women by men are very high," she said.

The discrepancy stems in part from societal attitudes that frame feminine victims as more sympathetic while masculine vulnerability remains taboo.

"Ours is still very much a patriarchal society stacked in favour of men and rigid gender norms. So, violence against women gets highlighted more," she said.

However, data suggests alarming rates of abuse against marginalized male and transgender groups.

"Make no mistake - male-on-male sexual violence is very common in Pakistan, but notions of masculinity and honour prevent victims from coming forward," she stressed.

The result is a perfect storm where oppressed groups suffer violence quietly due to stigma, inadequate legal protections, and lack of social support.

She says that this violence stems from the society and its parameters for different genders. If it considers a gender lesser being, that gender will suffer more violence and have even lesser support.

"If we as a society view someone as 'other' or inferior due to their gender identity, that enables serious abuse. Transgender individuals, in particular, face huge discrimination and vulnerability to harassment,” Dr. Rubeena said.

How the Situation Could Be Changed?

Both Dr. Rubeena and Shermeen said that we would need to change the way we look at vulnerable groups as individuals and as the whole society. Then there is a need for wide-scale awareness campaigns and systematic changes that give power to these groups and make them equal citizens of this country.

"We need to empower vulnerable groups and give them greater autonomy and dignity regardless of gender identity. Simultaneously, we must challenge traditions and norms that justify misogyny and bigotry. Only then can we envision a society free from violence for people of all genders,” Bano said.

Dr Rubeena says universities should play their role in this regard. Those should take the help of their students and send them to communities to work as change agents.

"Legal initiatives, counselling services, university gender programs - these can help. We must go deeper within communities to shift mindsets and toxic masculinity norms that fuel violence against marginalized groups,” she said.

It is a long road, but an essential one to build a society free of oppression.

"The most vital need is awareness - we must break taboos and start openly discussing violence targeting men, transgender citizens, and anyone else who suffers abuse. Only then can all people live with equal rights and dignity, regardless of gender," Dr. Rubeena said further.

The path forward winds through schools where curriculum and counselling nurture inclusion; through homes where families reconcile rigid roles, and seats of power occupied by visionaries bold enough to legislate protections for all. The healing should begin in communities reclaiming identities that have been long demonized. Media should also play its due role in this regard by giving an amplified voice to the muffled trauma of marginalized groups.

As Shermeen stated, such transformation requires “redefining strength” as empowering the most vulnerable—countering decades of trauma with resilience. The space must open through dialogue; laws should be made to secure rights for everyone regardless of any discrimination Though long suppressed, an enlightened Pakistan lies within reach should we muster collective courage to confront bias in all its insidious forms.

Sabah Bano Malik

Trigger Warning: This article covers topics including femicide, domestic violence, domestic abuse, and marital rape.

In 2014 I resigned myself to watching with my mom whichever drama she was currently consuming. This was before I understood how streaming worked, or torrents, or how to cast something to a television once you downloaded it (needless to say, I was technologically challenged), so she ruled the remote and therefore the content.

One drama in particular had ensnared her and truthfully me as well. To be honest, as much as I do criticize dramas, they really do know how to get you sucked in. Dramas are watched by millions – leave the television numbers aside, the views on YouTube where channels now post whole episodes soon after they air on television, regularly cross millions in views. Stories about families and shaadis dominate the plot points, but now and then you get a drama which puts a bit of a twist on the tales as old as time, so it was not uncommon for me to grumble but also ask my mom to catch me up on anything I had missed by the time I started watching.

This time around, she was watching Bashar Momin, a serial that centered around the titular antagonist turned protagonist Bashar Momin. The central plot was around him and his relationship with his wife Rudaba, played by Faysal Qureshi and Ushna Shah respectively.

What made this drama a bit different was it seemed to slightly borrow from the common tropes of Turkish dramas known to meld mob and love plots together, Bashar was a gangster, money launderer, all around bad-guy in impeccably-tailored shiny suits who took up space in a menacing way. He was clever with evilly crafted one-liners. He was also handsome, rocking a well-coifed mop and a shaped-up beard that at the time was the most sought-after look and continues to be the dominant fashion trend with young men. He was an anti-hero that grew so popular that even in contentious times streaming rights landed in India for the show to air there as well. Rudaba was in many ways a fighter, but in overwhelming ways she was what most of our heroines in our dramas are: trapped, stuck, unheard.

Even in this drama about a bad, bad guy, shaadi could not be far behind. It is the most critical of plot points when it comes to our entertainment. Nothing can start and nothing can end without shaadi somewhere in there.

Circumstances lead to Rudaba marrying Bashar, neither is particularly happy about it. Though Bashar did manipulate the nuptials into  happening – Bashar the older, the conniving, the have I mentioned bad guy, manipulated her brother into marrying her off (no consent necessary, just threats and duty cited) to him. Rudaba was afraid of him.

I am talking trembling, eyes averting, this is a bully and she is the cornered type afraid of him. He was mentally torturous of her and often verbally abusive, and would be seen routinely grabbing  an arm or physically intimidating her by blocking her path or towering over her. And if one was to assume he took being a husband seriously – he was also emotionally neglectful.

Not to mention he broke up her long-time engagement to a family friend (promised by her dad, because of course) and was overall making it so that everyone in Rudaba’s life doubted her character – which they did very easily, because well, art imitates life and who has it easiest to destroy a woman’s character than literally any man determined to do so and the fact that there is always a willing to listen audience for them.

So when a few episodes went by and Bashar told her to get out and he was going to divorce her, I was quite literally scooping my jaw up off the floor to hear that he could not do that to her because she was pregnant.

She was pregnant.

As of today, there are no official laws on the books in Pakistan that explicitly state or acknowledge the reality of marital rape, the act of sexual coercion and assault between married persons. However as stated in this article in January 2023 written by Forman Christian College, “The legal provision against rape in the Pakistan Penal Code^[1] doesn’t explicitly mention marital rape but still the provision recognizes sexual intercourse insides the bounds of the marriage as rape if it takes place against the will of the wife.”

Unhappy wives falling pregnant on our television shows is very much the norm. It is also not uncommon to be introduced to a long-suffering wife who has many kids with her abusive, shitbag of a husband. It is also not uncommon to see having children being prescribed as the quick fix for a horrible marriage being depicted on screen.

But rarely if ever is it acknowledged that two people who despise each other seemingly made children, and in the cause of Rudaba and Bashar it stuck out to me so much, that I am reflecting on it nearly ten years later, because only an episode earlier I watched her shake in fear at sharing space with him – and putting two and two together, broke me.

“So was it rape?”

That’s the question I posed to my mom whose eyes widened like she had not really thought about it like that before, because to marry and to have children just kind of happens. It’s the expected next step no matter if you’re arranged, in a love match, or in so many cases as seen in our dramas, and sadly our headlines, forced.

When marital rape is brought up online where I chronically live, I can pretty much guess exactly what is going to happen in the comments – men claiming it is not real. Men demanding to know what the point of them earning money is then, implicitly stating that they are buying their wife’s consent. Men saying feminism is ruining families, because consent is a made-up concept.

I kid you not, a man once responded to one of my Tweets (my X’s?) about marital rape saying, “Consent will ruin marriages,” another simply wrote, “Consent?” punctuated with about 20 laughing emojis.

The idea that a wife is giving consent for life by marrying you seems to be the believed doctrine of too many people, so when I criticize dramas for continuing this point in their plots am I critiquing them for portraying culture or for influencing it?

Should Pakistani dramas talk about whether consent has taken place? Could they be doing more? Should they be doing more?

According to a study conducted by the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) titled 'Factsheet on Domestic Violence During COVID-19 Lockdown'^[2] in 2020, 90% of Pakistani women have experienced some form of domestic violence in their lifetimes.

90% of us, and that’s just who felt confident enough to say so. Or who felt it was so normal it was not something they needed to hide or deny. Imagine the numbers if we could ask everyone. If we could inform everyone.

There’s a casualness around the unequal dynamic in the relationship between husbands and their wives in our culture. An accepted truth that the husband is the boss and what he says goes – you see it a lot in our dramas too. Freshly wed brides are suddenly being dictated to about what they can wear and who they can see. Wives divert attention and life-changing decisions to their husbands or other males in the family. And that’s sadly not even shocking enough to be the whole point of the show – fighting those very ideas – but just how things are done. Because that is how things are often done.

Before I dive into physical domestic violence and its depiction on our televisions, I want to talk about the other types of abuse that are so common place in our dramas it genuinely gives me chills because if it’s so normal on here, that means it’s so normal out there in the real world.

Let me set the scene. A man comes home from the office, he’s already in a bad mood because his mom or his cousin who actually wants to marry him has been calling him all day complaining about his wife. His wife who has run the household all day and is now waiting for him to get home hoping beyond hope he is in a good mood because since they married, he rarely is, is waiting in their room.

He enters, she says hello, maybe takes his jacket and his bag, brings him a glass of water she already had prepared, and he says nothing. No hello. No acknowledgement.

She tries to pepper him a bit, get him conversing, and make some polite conversation – if she is unlucky, she will be addressing some conflict that was left to her to resolve. And then he snaps!

“Chup! Bas!” The beloved quips of, “Do you ever stop talking!?” and “My mother was right about you!” or “Go crying to your brother, see if I care.”

In some dramas here is where the accusations will be meted out against her character, or demands will be made of her to be better than she is, and if the writers want to spare us, he will slam the door on her and walk out.

Ridiculing wives, degrading wives, ganging up on wives – all of these seem to be seamlessly apart of the majority of Pakistani dramas.

Now often this behavior is not dismissed by the audience, or at least it is not meant to be – that would not be fair of me to say, clearly, we are meant to look at this chump and know he’s in the wrong – but it’s how this wrong is often dealt with that jolts you out of seat and makes you want to shake your tv screen.

Women are expected to suffer and sabr, and suffer and sabr, and ultimately get their win at the end of the day by forgiving everyone who wronged her and being just the purist, sweetest, likely light-skinned angel that one could be.

She forgives abuse, she forgives isolation, because well she’s above making people pay when she can play nice. She sees her husband has come around and she can forgive him, or she can let him be their children’s lives, she can even hug her abusive  collaborators, or she can forgive her own family for marrying her off.

Which influences the audience to believe that women should suffer. Women should sabr. And women should forgive. At least good women do.

This is even the case when domestic physical violence takes root.

The problem is, with 90% of Pakistani women reporting being at the receiving end of violence at some point in their life, is it simply art imitating life, and if so, how much responsibility does art bear to challenge the norms of life?

It's not just slaps, but arm grabbing, arm shaking, physical intimidation, shouting, and the aforementioned very much present "marital rape" in dramas - all being normalized. And when the knee-jerk  reaction of the country, including those in entertainment, is to brush off violence, how long can we let this "norm" be the norm?

Nowadays  when a slap is heard on television dramas it can often lead to outrage on the internet – but that’s for the popular shows, the ones that have fanbases online and often tap into younger audiences. But slaps are as regular of tropes about girls in jeans and those who work in offices – the latter two quite negative, the slap – just part of what we do.

A husband lifting his hand against his wife is not only uncommon but expected, often in these shows (and I dare I say real life) a wife will sometimes be consoled and comforted but also told that this is sometimes just what husbands do.

So again we can say art is imitating life, then what responsibility does art hold? In a country with rampant (at times denied) femicide and women’s patience and hurt and endurance seen as an integral part of our culture – should the shows do more to battle these expected realities?

For some people seeing harrowing or even casual instances of domestic violence may strike a chord, and may even change their opinion on things – but when there is an overwhelming dismissal of violence against women – especially within the confines of a marital home or family unit – should dramas be doing more?

I personally think – yes. And I am not alone.

Just last year the drama Tere Bin starring beloved drama actors Yumna Zaidi and Wahaj Ali was THE drama everyone was talking about. It was a massive success not only here in Pakistan, but in Bangladesh and India as well and it did what not many dramas are doing – it captured Gen Z and it became part of internet culture. Forums, threads, groups – they build a devoted fan base and largely due to their slightly unconventional, leaning slightly more contemporary handling of the central relationship of the series of Meerub and Murtasim. They literally talked about consent believe it or not.

Meerub was a departure from the usual heroine – brash, wild, bold, and at times wholly unlikeable, and Murtasim was the grumbly rough hero softened by his love for this wild girl – the makings of drama deliciousness. But then he slapped her.

He slapped her and it was romanticized by the show. And by the audience.

In order to write about this moment, I went to watch it on YouTube, the clip has 2.3 million views and thousands of comments and many of those disgusted with the romantic portrayal of the slap in turn had hundreds of comments saying, and I quote, “Aisa hi romance real hota hai.” Many also said she pushed him to it, this was his first time reacting, he felt bad, and he said sorry, it happens. It happens.
It happens.

Maybe the most dangerous and the most telling of the commentary on the slap and the swoon-worthy  way it was portrayed was two words: it happens. Because it happens is a stone’s throw away from “this is just what husband’s (or men) do.”

Fans were outraged and talk around the slap was trending on social media with literal hashtags about the slap itself racking in thousands of posts and critiques and demands for the drama industry to do better, to stop using abuse as a plot point if they were not going to handle it with care, respect, and satisfying retribution.

And this could possibly be why the show took a harsh pivot on a marital rape scene that would come and stun everyone being that a huge plot point was around their marriage being approved by Meerub when she got in writing that no consummation would take place without her consent.

The marital rape scene in the drama was rebranded as a “regret” moment when it became clear the audience was not going to be on board with the torture of the heroine, it was handled incredibly clumsily and audiences did not let the show off the hook. Ridiculing and condemning the show with equal energy. Watching the scene back now it’s hard to see where they believed shoddy editing could save this – we all saw through it; it was violent and transparent.

And it was wholly unnecessary. But it gets views. Marital rape, mentions of rape, slaps, abuse, traumatized and crying women – it all obviously leads to views because these dramas become huge, viral, record-breaking shows. And again I ask, what responsibility does the drama industry have to highlight abuses happening in our societies but also treat them in such a way that their massive influence can be used for good?

There is also a ridiculous amount of arm grabbing in our dramas. Arm grabbing has long been seen as the out-of-control urge to hold someone that entertainment coming out of more conservative cultures have employed for eons.

Arm grabbing is big in K-dramas, Turkish dramas, and of course, Bollywood where there was nary a film without an arm grab or even an arm drag, and they are also frequently happening in our own Pakistani dramas.

It’s almost always portrayed as emotional turmoil pushing a man to this, it is romantic. It is manly. And it is so dangerous. I am 34, I have been watching Bollywood movies for three decades, Pakistani dramas for closing in on two and even I find myself having to dismantle daily what is romance, what is care, what is healthy in relationships because what we accept as norms and portray as norms cannot be.