Blood-Stained Honour: Stories of Silence, Resistance, and Injustice

In recent days, everyone has witnessed a video that we watched on social media. Well, it was a cold-blooded murder in the name of honour. However, the content of the video was:

In a dusty village outside Quetta, Bano Bibi walked slowly toward her brother, Quran held tightly to her chest. She looked him in the eyes one last time. Behind her stood Ehsan Ullah, the man she loved and married. Among 10-15 men, she stood alone but strong. Her last words before the guns shut her down were “You are only allowed to shoot ne, and nothing else.”

Moments later, both were shot dead in cold blood. Their crime? Eloping without the permission of the tribe. This brutal act is one of many honour killings in Pakistan that continue to haunt the nation.

Their last moments were caught on a mobile phone camera. The footage, leaked online in July 2025, triggered a wave of national anger. But the rage came too late. Bano and Ehsan had already paid the ultimate price. The traditional Baloch term for their death was "Siyahkari," blackening the family name. And in the eyes of the community, they were no longer worthy of life. This case soon became known as the Bano Bibi viral video 2025 across media outlets and social platforms.

The Language of Death

In Pakistan, honour killing isn’t just a crime. It’s a cultural narrative passed through generations. Every province carries its own term for what it calls justice:

• In Sindh, it's "Karo-Kari", a blackened man and woman. The term Karo Kari Sindh is commonly used in local news and police reports.
  
  

• In Punjab, "Kala-Kali" follows the same metaphor.
  
  

• In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, they say "Tor Tora", highlighting the distinct KP honour crime terminology.
  
  

• In Balochistan, it's "Siyahkari", the term that echoed across the country after Bano Bibi’s killing.
  
  

These aren't just words. They are death sentences written in dialect.

A Nation of Stories Buried in Silence

Earlier this year, in Jhelum, a 20-year-old woman was shot by her two brothers. Her crime? Posting TikTok videos. The family staged it as a suicide until neighbors leaked private arguments about "izzat" (honour). The case became part of the increasing number of TikTok honour killing Pakistan tragedies.

Then came Sana Yousaf, a 17-year-old influencer from Islamabad. On June 2, 2025, she was murdered by her cousin after rejecting his advances. What the media reported as a crime of passion was, in reality, an act of punishment for her independence. Her face had graced screens across the nation. Now, it was plastered across protest banners. "Saying No is My Right," one read during the Aurat March.

Go further back, and you meet Qandeel Baloch. She dared to own her voice in a society that polices women’s autonomy. Her brother drugged and strangled her in 2016, admitting he had to do it to protect family honour. In 2022, their mother forgave him. He walked free. The Qandeel Baloch case update remains a key reference when discussing honour crimes and failed justice in Pakistan.

Why Do These Killings Happen?

The justifications vary: love marriage, elopement, refusal of arranged marriage, dressing too modern, using social media, or choosing one’s sexual identity. But all of it comes back to one thing: control.

• Control of women’s choices, bodies, and desires.

• Control of family reputation.

• Control of narrative.

In many tribal or rural parts of Pakistan, a woman’s choices are not her own. Her honour is the property of her father, brother, husband, or son. A deviation from that expectation, even imagined, can become a death warrant. This issue is deeply rooted in the Pakistan tribal justice system, where traditional beliefs override legal protection.

Tribal Justice, Modern Cruelty

In Bano Bibi’s case, a jirga (tribal court) ordered the execution. Jirgas are illegal in Pakistan, but in rural regions like Balochistan and Sindh, they still hold immense authority. They operate above the law, under the guise of tradition and outdated interpretations of Islamic law and honour killings.

In July 2025, after the video surfaced, police arrested 14 people. Balochistan’s Chief Minister called the incident "painful and disgusting." But activists ask: why do we only act after women are dead and viral?

The Law That Doesn’t Protect

In 2016, Pakistan amended its honour killing laws after Qandeel Baloch’s murder. Families could no longer forgive the killer to avoid punishment. Yet enforcement remains weak.

The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) reported 405 honour killings in 2024. In Balochistan, out of 32 cases, only one conviction was recorded. Police and courts often sympathize with perpetrators, brushing cases under the rug.

Women's Lives as Social Collateral

The tragedy is not just in the death, but in the normalization. Communities shield the killer. Jirgas justify it. Families stay silent. And society moves on.

But every woman killed is a story interrupted.
Every name erased is a life never lived.

Fighting Back: With Voice, With Vision

Voices are rising. Activists like Jibran Nasir, Jalila Haider, and Sami Deen Baloch are calling for an end to the silence.

Social media plays a double role. It has triggered killings. But it has also exposed them. The leaked video of Bano Bibi, painful as it was, became a weapon of awareness. Hashtags like #JusticeForCouple and #HonourKilling went viral in July 2025, putting global attention on honour killing in Pakistan.

Women are using platforms to reclaim their agency. Young girls are learning their rights. The fight is long, but it has begun.

The Way Forward

To end this blood-stained tradition, we need:

• Stricter law enforcement in rural and tribal areas
  

• Elimination of parallel justice systems like jirgas
  

• Community-based education using local terms like Karo Kari Sindh, Siyahkari Balochistan, and Tor Tora to challenge toxic honour ideologies
  

• State-led protection for women at risk
  

• Media accountability in framing such killings as crimes, not culture
  

Conclusion: A Final Plea

Bano Bibi and Ehsan didn’t just die. They were executed for a love marriage.
Sana Yousaf didn’t just disappear. She was silenced for saying no.

Until we start calling honour killings by their true name, murder, more names will be added to this growing list. And more families will bury their daughters in shame, they never asked for.

Let us not wait for the next video to shake us. Let us act now.

Let us honour their memory not with silence, but with resistance.