By Nasir Aijaz
The AsiaN Representative
ISLAMABAD: In Pakistan, a mere accusation of blasphemy can seal a person’s fate, often long before any court delivers a verdict. Originally introduced under British colonial rule and later hardened under General Zia-ul-Haq’s Islamization drive in the 1980s, the country’s blasphemy laws now stand as one of the most feared and misused legal tools.
These laws, broad in scope and vague in language, are often used not to protect religious sentiments but to settle personal scores, incite communal violence, and silence dissent. The human cost of this legal instrument has been catastrophic.
The consequences of a blasphemy allegation in Pakistan are not just judicial—they are social, political, and often fatal. One of the most disturbing examples was the case of Asia Bibi, a Christian farm worker from Punjab who was accused in 2009 of insulting the Prophet Muhammad during a dispute over a glass of water. Though the allegation was never proven and later overturned by the Supreme Court, she spent nearly a decade in solitary confinement on death row. Her case set off a storm of violence and reaction across the country. Two brave men who spoke in her defense—Salman Taseer, Governor of Punjab province, and Shahbaz Bhatti, the Federal Minister for Minorities—paid with their lives. Taseer was shot dead by his own bodyguard, Mumtaz Qadri, in Islamabad in 2011. Bhatti, a Christian and outspoken critic of the blasphemy laws, was assassinated outside his home in the capital just weeks later. Their deaths sent a chilling message across Pakistan: questioning these laws or defending the accused is itself a punishable offense—in the eyes of extremists, it is blasphemy.
Violence has not been limited to political figures. In December 2021, Priyantha Kumara, a Sri Lankan citizen working as a factory manager in Sialkot city of Punjab province, was lynched and burned by a mob after being falsely accused of blasphemy for allegedly removing a religious poster.
Hundreds watched, filmed, and cheered as his body was set ablaze in broad daylight. Though dozens were later arrested and convicted, the culture that enables such incidents remains intact. The accusation itself had been fabricated over a workplace disciplinary action.
Blasphemy allegations have also been used to crush dissent within academic circles. In 2017, Mashal Khan, a bright and outspoken student at Abdul Wali Khan University in Mardan city of Khyber Pakhtoonkhaw province, was accused by university officials and students of posting blasphemous material on social media.
The allegations were found to be baseless—he had actually criticized corruption in the administration. Nonetheless, he was lynched by a mob of fellow students and staff inside the university premises. He was stripped, tortured, and shot, all while bystanders filmed and some even encouraged the killers.
In Sindh, long seen as a more tolerant province, the misuse of blasphemy laws has taken on a sinister turn. In Umerkot city, Dr. Shahnawaz Chachar, a respected medical officer, was shot dead in 2021 after being falsely accused of blasphemy by local clerics. The circumstances surrounding his murder revealed a deeply troubling alliance between certain religious figures and law enforcement officers. Despite his reputation for treating the poor without discrimination, a fabricated allegation led to his execution in cold blood.
His murderers acted with near impunity, encouraged by a network of religious influence and state silence. In this case, as in many others, the accusation was used as a tool to eliminate a man who refused to bow to sectarian and tribal pressure.
Similarly, in Ghotki, Sindh, in 2019, a Hindu school principal was accused of blasphemy by a student. The allegation triggered violent riots during which temples were desecrated and Hindu-owned businesses ransacked. Though the charges were never substantiated, the damage had been done.
The principal was jailed, and his community traumatized. In Mirpurkhas and Hyderabad, mentally ill individuals and children have faced similar accusations, often followed by public beatings, arrests, or forced disappearances.
The legal process offers little protection. Junaid Hafeez, a Fulbright scholar and lecturer at Bahauddin Zakariya University in Multan city of Punjab, was accused of blasphemy by student groups hostile to his progressive views. His lawyer, Rashid Rehman, received death threats in court and was assassinated in 2014. Hafeez himself has been languishing in solitary confinement for over a decade, sentenced to death despite grave inconsistencies in evidence and widespread international condemnation.
Religious minorities—especially Christians, Hindus, and Ahmadis—bear the brunt of these laws. In Faisalabad, another city of Punjab, the Christian couple Shagufta Kausar and Shafqat Emmanuel were sentenced to death in 2014 for allegedly sending blasphemous text messages in English, a language neither of them could read nor write. Their ordeal lasted more than eight years before their acquittal. Yet even in freedom, they remain refugees from their own homeland.
Ahmadis, declared non-Muslims by constitutional decree, are not allowed to call themselves Muslims or practice Islam as they understand it. For simply writing Quranic verses on gravestones or referring to their places of worship as mosques, they are routinely prosecuted under Pakistan’s blasphemy laws.
Entire Ahmadi communities have been driven out of towns following mob violence, as in Gujranwala city of Punjab, where homes were set ablaze and children were burned alive—all over a rumor on Facebook.
In most cases, the process of trial is irrelevant. The accusation alone is a death sentence. Judges fear retribution. Lawyers are threatened or killed. Police often stand by, unwilling or unable to confront violent mobs. The media, too, is constrained—many outlets hesitate to report such incidents out of fear of reprisal. In a climate like this, even the Supreme Court’s rulings struggle to shift the public tide.
Pakistan’s blasphemy laws have become a mirror reflecting the darkest fears—fear of the other, fear of dissent, and fear of truth. They offer no real protection to religion but serve instead as a mechanism for persecution, often targeting the vulnerable and silencing the principled.
The assassinations of Taseer, Bhatti, and Chachar; the lynching of Priyantha Kumara and Mashal Khan; the ruined lives of Asia Bibi, Junaid Hafeez, and so many unknown others—these are not isolated events but part of a systemic failure of justice and humanity.
There seems no end to such brutal incidents, as a latest report of July 10, 2025, published by Pakistan reputed English newspaper Dawn says four cases were registered against some individuals of Shia community of Kunri town of Sindh, who were accused of posting content on social media which they deemed disrespectful to their beliefs.
The cases were registered under the pressure of activists of the proscribed extremist organization Ahle Sunnat Wal Jamaat (ASWJ), Tehreek-i-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam-Fazl (JUI-F), Jamaat Ahl-i-Sunnat, and Jamaat-i-Islami, who staged protest sit-in to exert pressure on the police.
Until Pakistan finds the courage to confront the misuse of these laws—to hold the false accusers accountable, to shield the innocent, and to end the culture of silence and fear—this crisis will persist. And with every passing year, the list of the dead and broken will only grow longer, written in the name of a justice that never arrives.
(This article is based on the incidents reported by the Pakistan media)
