Sexual Violence Against Minors in Pakistan: Silence, Patriarchy and the Failure of Child Protection

Sexual violence against minors in Pakistan represents one of the most serious and least understood humanitarian and legal emergencies in South Asia. Behind the already alarming official statistics lies a hidden universe of boys and girls who never report the abuse, families who remain silent out of fear of social stigma, and institutions that, far too often, fail to provide effective protection. According to data collected by the Pakistani organization Sahil, reported child abuse cases increased from more than 3,800 in 2021 to over 4,200 in 2023, involving thousands of children every year.

The most disturbing aspect is that the perpetrators are rarely strangers. In most cases, they are people belonging to the victims' everyday environment: relatives, neighbors, teachers, employers, and religious figures. Abuse therefore develops within relationships of trust and power. This makes reporting even more difficult, especially in a cultural context where family honor is often perceived as more important than the psychological protection of the child.

In Pakistan, sexual violence against minors takes many forms: rape, sodomy, harassment, forced child marriages, kidnappings for sexual exploitation, child trafficking, and online abuse. Victims are predominantly between 6 and 15 years old, although documented cases involving very young children also exist. Girls appear to be slightly more affected, yet a very large number of male minors also suffer abuse, often in an even more invisible way.

One of the most neglected aspects of the phenomenon concerns boys and male adolescents themselves. According to Sahil reports, male minors account for approximately 46–48% of recorded victims. This is an enormous figure, one that destroys the stereotype that sexual violence affects almost exclusively girls. Yet in the Pakistani context, the silence surrounding male victims is even heavier.

In a deeply patriarchal society, many boys are raised with the belief that a man must be strong, dominant, and incapable of showing vulnerability. When a male minor experiences sexual violence, he often suffers not only trauma and fear, but also profound shame, guilt, and the loss of his social identity. Many fear they will not be believed or that they will be associated with homosexuality, a subject still heavily stigmatized in the country. This creates a double silence: the silence of abuse and the silence of shame.

Many cases involve sodomy, sexual coercion, and exploitation carried out by adult men in positions of authority or economic power. The most vulnerable minors are often poor children, domestic workers, homeless boys, or students entrusted to religious institutions far from their families. Economic vulnerability thus becomes sexual vulnerability.

Particularly sensitive is the situation of boys living in madrassas or working in informal labor environments. Several investigations have revealed cases of serial abuse committed by adults who exploited religious prestige, educational authority, or the economic dependence of minors. However, it is essential to avoid any Islamophobic generalization: millions of families entrust their children to madrassas because they provide free education, food, and shelter. The real issue is not religion itself, but the absence of effective oversight, transparency, and child protection systems.

The broader social context greatly worsens the phenomenon. Poverty, lack of education, gender inequality, and child labor create an environment in which children become extremely vulnerable. In many rural or marginalized areas, minors live without adequate state protection, while sexual education is almost nonexistent. Patriarchal culture and fear of public shame push many families not to report abuse. In some cases, the "solution" sought is even the forced marriage of the girl victim or the relocation of the abused child far away from the community, in an attempt to erase the scandal rather than protect the minor.

In recent years, online grooming and the circulation of child sexual abuse material — internationally referred to as "CSAM" (Child Sexual Abuse Material), a term preferred over "child pornography" because it does not blame victims — have also increased significantly. Smartphones, social media, and messaging platforms have opened new possibilities for exploitation and blackmail, while Pakistan still struggles to develop truly effective technological systems to combat these crimes.

Pakistani legislation against child sexual abuse does exist and is relatively structured on a formal level, contrary to what is often assumed in the West. Pakistan has gradually introduced several legal reforms, especially after high-profile cases shocked national public opinion. Among the most important laws is the Criminal Laws (Second Amendment) Act of 2016, which amended the Pakistan Penal Code by introducing specific crimes related to the sexual exploitation of minors, the production and distribution of child sexual material, trafficking, sexual coercion, and online abuse.

This legislation is complemented by the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) of 2016, which criminalizes online grooming, the dissemination of CSAM, digital sexual blackmail, and online exploitation of minors, providing penalties of up to twenty years in prison. Pakistan also enacted the Juvenile Justice System Act of 2018, aimed at creating a separate and more protective juvenile justice system, and above all the Zainab Alert, Response and Recovery Act of 2020, introduced after the horrific rape and murder of seven-year-old Zainab Ansari, which established rapid alert systems, dedicated hotlines, and the ZARRA agency for locating missing children.

At the international level, Pakistan has ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child and protocols against child sexual exploitation. Nevertheless, the real issue is not the absence of laws, but their actual implementation: many victims never report abuse, police officers often lack proper training, investigations are slow, trials face social and political pressure, psychological assistance is insufficient, and families are frequently pushed into silence to avoid public stigma.

In many rural areas, state law coexists with traditional patriarchal systems and community dynamics that tend to "resolve" abuse privately, discouraging access to justice. For this reason, many international observers argue that Pakistan suffers not so much from a legal vacuum, but from institutional weakness, insufficient enforcement, and a lack of cultural prevention.

The psychological trauma suffered by abused boys is devastating and often invisible. Many male minors develop depression, social isolation, post-traumatic disorders, or self-destructive behaviors. When a state fails to protect an abused child, the damage does not end with the crime itself: it continues for years, affecting mental health, trust in others, and the relationship with one's own body.

The symbolic case that shocked Pakistan was that of seven-year-old Zainab Ansari, kidnapped, raped, and murdered in 2018 in the city of Kasur. The brutality of the crime sparked mass protests across the country and forced the government to adopt new legislative measures and rapid alert systems for missing minors. Yet despite public outrage, thousands of other cases continue to unfold far from the spotlight.

From the perspective of international law, the issue directly involves obligations arising from the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, the CEDAW Convention on discrimination against women, and protocols against trafficking and sexual exploitation. Child protection cannot be considered an internal cultural matter exempt from international scrutiny: the fundamental rights of minors are universal.

Journalistic language also plays a crucial role. Reporting on these crimes requires rigor, respect for privacy, and the rejection of sensationalism. Victims must never become narrative tools used merely to generate public shock. Instead, information should help society understand the systemic roots of the problem: poverty, patriarchy, lack of welfare systems, educational deficiencies, and institutional weakness.

The Pakistani reality demonstrates a universal truth: children's safety is not measured by the abstract severity of laws, but by the concrete ability of the state and society to listen to a child when they finally find the courage to say, "I am afraid." In a system that too often demands silence from victims in order to preserve collective honor, the true legal and cultural revolution lies in believing children, protecting them, and guaranteeing them dignity, justice, and a future.