(By Ayesha Mahnoor)
On the night of December 1, 2025, Islamabad witnessed a tragedy that should have shaken the conscience of the nation. Two young women—friends, colleagues, daughters of poor households—were crushed to death while riding a scooter home. Their lives ended not because of fate, but because of reckless power unchecked by law.
According to widely reported accounts, a luxury Land Cruiser, allegedly driven at high speed by an underage boy, rammed into the scooter. The girls died on the spot. What followed their deaths, however, may be even more disturbing than the accident itself—not merely for what happened, but for what did not.
A Case That Moved Faster Than Justice Ever Does
In a country where ordinary citizens wait decades for verdicts—where witnesses die before testimony and files gather dust—this case was concluded in just four to five days.
The driver was reportedly 16 years old, below the legal age for both a driving license and a national identity card. The vehicle allegedly bore a fake number plate, and reports suggest the driver was using a mobile phone while driving. These facts alone should have invoked the strictest provisions of criminal and traffic law.
Yet, the First Information Report (FIR), by many accounts, was weakly framed, crucial sections were allegedly omitted, and investigative rigor appeared conspicuously absent. CCTV footage was not publicly recovered. Eyewitness testimony did not materialize. The traffic police did not pursue the matter with urgency. Safe City surveillance remained silent.
Despite the gravity of the offense, the accused reportedly received preferential treatment in custody, including facilities never afforded to ordinary detainees. Within days, the case reached court—and just as swiftly, it ended.
Forgiveness Under Pressure Is Not Justice
The legal closure came through forgiveness (diyat)—a provision of law meant to provide mercy, not coercion. According to multiple reports, grieving families were persuaded to forgive within days. One mother was reportedly too ill to appear in court; her forgiveness was accepted via video. Another family followed suit.
Legally, forgiveness may end a case. Morally, it does not end accountability—especially when forgiveness appears rushed, pressured, or extracted in an environment of fear and imbalance.
Forgiveness obtained under the shadow of power is not reconciliation; it is submission.
The Silence of Institutions That Never Stay Silent
Perhaps most unsettling was the collective silence.
- No suo motu notice
- No emergency meeting of the Supreme Judicial Council
- No protest from bar associations that routinely paralyze courts
- No candlelight vigils from civil society
- No public reassurance from the executive
This was “lightning-fast justice” delivered by a system otherwise infamous for delay—by a judiciary ranked among the lowest globally in speed of justice delivery. The contrast was not coincidental; it was telling.
One Law for the Powerful, Another for the Powerless
This case did not introduce a new injustice—it merely confirmed an old truth: Pakistan operates under a two-tier system of justice.
For the poor:
- Years in remand
- Endless adjournments
- Costly litigation
- Vanishing witnesses
For the powerful:
- Weak FIRs
- Gentle custody
- Swift hearings
- Convenient forgiveness
This disparity erodes not just trust in courts, but faith in the idea of justice itself.
Roads as Mirrors of Society
The tragedy also exposed a deeper malaise: lawlessness normalized.
Underage driving. Fake number plates. Speeding without consequence. Mobile phones behind the wheel. These are not anomalies; they are daily realities—especially for the privileged, who know they are unlikely to be stopped.
In functioning societies, status increases accountability. In Pakistan, status often erases it.
A Question That Refuses to Go Away
What emboldens a minor to drive a luxury vehicle at lethal speed in the federal capital?
The answer is not ignorance—it is impunity.
The belief that nothing will happen.
And if something does—someone powerful will handle it.
That belief is the most dangerous thing on Pakistan’s roads.
Justice Delayed Is Justice Denied—But Justice Rushed Can Be Worse
The nation is not asking for vengeance. It is asking for consistency.
If courts can conclude a case in five days, why do millions wait for decades?
If forgiveness can be arranged overnight, why are the poor left unheard?
If law bends for the influential, what remains for the ordinary citizen?
Until these questions are answered, tragedies like this will not be exceptions—they will be precedents.
And a nation that allows power to outrun justice will eventually discover that lawlessness spares no one.
A powerful and deeply unsettling piece. You have articulated, with clarity and moral courage, how justice in Pakistan too often bends before power, influence, and privilege. The article does not merely narrate an incident; it exposes a systemic decay that erodes public trust in the judiciary and the rule of law. Your empathetic portrayal of the victims and your fearless questioning of institutional silence make this a compelling call for introspection and reform. Pieces like this are essential if society is to confront uncomfortable truths and reclaim justice from the clutches of the powerful.