May 28, 2025
By Nadeem Khan
QUETTA: The room is dark, cramped, and sweltering—no electricity, no relief from Quetta’s oppressive heat. Seven-year-old ‘Z’ shuffles in, leaning heavily on her mother, Hurmat Bibi. Each step for her seems like it is agony. Weeks earlier, she was raped by a man she knew—a relative – in Naseerabad.
“He took me near our home and raped me,” Z whispers, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “There was blood… so much pain.”
Her family, already reeling from Balochistan’s catastrophic floods, lost their home and now lives in a rented house in Quetta. Their fight for justice is even harder than survival.
“My daughter bled for hours before we could get help,” says Hurmat Bibi, her voice breaking. Initially, a local clinic treated the child, but the doctor advised them to take her to Jacobabad, Sindh, for better emergency care. Now back in Quetta, she remains traumatized—unable to eat, sleep, or speak without fear.
The accused, Shaban, is a relative—a chilling reality in many child abuse cases. Though he has been arrested, and the First Information Report has also been registered, the police have been pressuring the family to settle out of court, a common practice across Pakistan. But because of Balochistan’s tribal society, disputes are often resolved through “jirga” or “mairh panchayat” – parallel judicial systems, which cause severe discrimination rather than provide justice.
A system in crisis
Official data from Quetta’s Child Protection Unit reveals 41 reported cases of child sexual abuse in 2024—but only from four districts: Quetta, Pishin, Killa Saifullah, and Killa Abdullah-Chaman. Shockingly, the Unit’s mandate covers all of Balochistan, yet jurisdictional and logistical constraints leave most cases undocumented.
Nationwide, the numbers are even grimmer. Sahil’s annual report documented 3,364 child abuse cases in 2024—nine per day. Of these, 53% (1,791) were girls, while 47% (1,573) were boys. Punjab accounted for 78% of cases, but activists say underreporting in Balochistan and other provinces masks the true scale of the crisis.
Police negligence & legal failures
Human rights activist Hameeda Noor, who has fought tirelessly for Z’s case, accuses police of deliberate negligence. “Critical evidence wasn’t collected on time,” she says. “Without a forensic lab in Balochistan, delays manipulate cases in favour of the accused.”
Advocate Jamil Ahmed Soomro, representing Z pro bono, notes the FIR was wrongly filed under Section 375 of the Pakistan Penal Code (which defines rape) instead of Section 376 (which prescribes punishment). “This error weakens the case,” he says. “And out-of-court settlements let offenders walk free.”
Why most cases never see justice
The Sustainable Social Development Organization (SSDO) 2024 Report exposes systemic failures. Conviction rates for child abuse remain below one percent. Social pressure forces families to withdraw complaints. Police stations are hostile environments for victims. Delays in medical examinations destroy evidence. “Lack of DNA laws, poor inter-department coordination, and defective investigations all contribute,” the report states.
The lifelong scars of abuse
Dr. Bashir Ahmed Abro, a child specialist, explains that survivors like Zameera face physical and psychological trauma for years. “They suffer depression, PTSD, stunted growth, and even early pregnancies or STIs,” he says. “Without proper counseling, antibiotics, and a safe environment, recovery is nearly impossible.”
A glimmer of hope?
Balochistan’s Women and Juvenile Facilitation Centre claims to provide a “friendly environment” for victims. “We ensure swift action and psychosocial support,” says in-charge Shazia Imran.
But for Z, justice remains elusive. She still asks: Why me? When will my attacker pay?
Her question echoes across Pakistan—where thousands of abused children wait for a system that rarely answers.