For Nadia*, a dedicated tutor living in the bustling metropolis of Karachi, the digital world was once a tool for connection and professional growth. That changed with a single notification. What began as a routine WhatsApp exchange with a neighbor—a man her family had known and trusted for years—slowly devolved into a persistent campaign of invasive messaging. The transition from friendly banter to predatory harassment was subtle at first, then suffocating. Like many women in Pakistan, Nadia found herself trapped in a state of paralyzing uncertainty, unsure of where the line for legal intervention was drawn or who would believe her if she spoke out.
The escalation from digital harassment to physical violence reached a horrific climax one afternoon when the neighbor forced his way into her home. The sanctity of her private space was shattered in an instant. “He overpowered me,” Nadia recalls, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the trauma. “I was paralyzed by fear and blacked out.” When she finally regained consciousness, she was in a hospital bed, facing a reality that thousands of Pakistani women endure every year: the aftermath of a brutal assault.
Nadia’s experience is not an isolated incident; it is a reflection of a burgeoning crisis where digital spaces serve as a precursor to physical violence. In the last five years, an estimated 1.8 million women in Pakistan have fallen victim to cyber-crimes, ranging from blackmail and stalking to the non-consensual sharing of private data. Despite the prevalence of these crimes, the path to justice remains obstructed. Data indicates that while thousands of complaints are filed, the conviction rate for perpetrators remains a staggering 3.5 percent. In 2023 alone, the Digital Rights Foundation’s Helpline recorded nearly 2,500 complaints, with the majority originating from women targeted on platforms like WhatsApp and Facebook.
While Pakistan’s Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) of 2016 was designed to criminalize these behaviors—offering penalties of up to three years in prison—the gap between legislation and enforcement remains wide. Social stigma, a lack of public awareness, and the fear of “honor”-based repercussions often prevent survivors from coming forward. For those who do, the traditional legal process can be a secondary trauma, requiring them to navigate a fragmented system of police stations, hospitals, and courtrooms, often facing skepticism at every turn.
However, Nadia’s story took a different turn because of a revolutionary shift in how Pakistan handles sexual violence. Following her attack, her parents brought her to the country’s first Anti-Rape Crisis Cell (ARCC) in Karachi. Established in 2023 through a strategic partnership between UN Women and the U.S. Embassy’s Office of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement (INL), the ARCC represents a “one-stop” model of care. For the first time, survivors can access medical treatment, psychological counseling, legal guidance, and forensic evidence collection under a single roof, 24 hours a day.
The importance of this integrated approach cannot be overstated. Traditionally, a survivor might have to visit a police station to file a First Information Report (FIR), then travel to a separate government hospital for a medical exam, and later seek out a private therapist or legal aid. Each step requires the survivor to retell their story, often to untrained or insensitive officials. The ARCC eliminates this “re-traumatization” by housing all essential services in a secure, empathetic environment.
“For the first time since the attack, I felt I wasn’t alone,” Nadia says. Through the therapy and supportive counseling provided at the cell, she began to dismantle the internal narrative of shame that so often haunts survivors. “The Anti-Rape Crisis Cell gave me my voice back. I have the strength to demand justice—not just for me, but for every woman who has been silenced.”
The systemic need for these cells is underscored by harrowing national statistics. According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, 6,624 rape cases were registered across the country in 2023. This equates to one woman being raped every 45 minutes. These figures, while shocking, are widely believed to be underreported due to the pervasive “culture of silence.” When cases do reach the courts, they are often derailed by inadequate forensic practices, judicial delays, and a lack of gender sensitivity within the police force.
The catalyst for legislative change was the 2020 “motorway gang rape,” a case that sparked nationwide outrage not only for the brutality of the crime but for the victim-blaming comments made by high-ranking police officials. The public outcry led to the passage of the Anti-Rape (Investigation and Trial) Act of 2021. This landmark legislation mandated the creation of ARCCs and sought to standardize the collection of evidence to ensure higher conviction rates.
Dr. Summaiya Syed, the Chief Police Surgeon in Karachi and a leading advocate for survivor rights, emphasizes that the ARCC is a transformative tool for the justice system. “Over the years, we have witnessed countless cases of sexual violence in Pakistan,” she explains. “The concept of the crisis cell brings together all essential services—medical and psychological support, evidence collection and preservation, forensic analysis, assistance in FIR registration, and legal aid—ensuring survivors receive justice with dignity.”
The success of the initial Karachi center has led to a rapid expansion of the program. Today, six Anti-Rape Crisis Cells are operational in Islamabad, Karachi, Lahore, Multan, and Rawalpindi. These units are strategically located within government hospitals and maintain direct links to police reporting centers. The impact is already visible: in 2024 alone, these cells provided life-saving services to 437 survivors, nearly half of whom were children.
One of the most critical gaps the ARCCs fill is the quality of legal evidence. Chaudhary Muhammad Jahangir, Director General of the Centre for Professional Development of Public Prosecutors, notes that many cases fail because medical and legal officers lack the specific training required to draft airtight reports. “The crisis cells are now closing that gap,” he states, by ensuring that forensic evidence is handled by experts who understand both the medical and legal requirements of a successful prosecution.
Jamshed M. Kazi, the UN Women Representative in Pakistan, views these cells as symbols of a larger movement. “The Anti-Rape Crisis Cells embody hope and resilience,” he says, noting that they are a key part of Pakistan’s commitment to the Beijing+30 goals—a global framework for advancing gender equality.
For Nadia, the system worked. Her perpetrator was arrested and charged under the Anti-Rape Act. While the legal proceedings continue, Nadia has already reclaimed her life. She has returned to her work as a tutor and has taken on a new role as an advocate, using her experience to guide other women toward the resources available at the ARCC. “No woman should ever endure what I went through,” she says firmly. “But if they do, I want them to know they are not alone.”
As the world observes the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence, the focus remains on the theme that there is #NoExcuse for abuse—whether it occurs in the physical world or the digital one. The expansion of these crisis cells marks a significant milestone in Pakistan’s journey toward a future where justice is not a privilege, but a guarantee. By integrating medical care with legal accountability, the ARCCs are not just treating the wounds of the past; they are building a framework for a safer, more equitable future for all women and girls.
*Note: The name of the survivor has been changed to protect her identity and ensure her continued safety.
