In the bustling urban sprawl of Karachi, Nadia* was building a quiet, respectable life as a private tutor. Like millions of other young women in Pakistan, her digital life was an extension of her social one—a tool for work, family, and community. It began with a single WhatsApp notification from a neighbor, a man she had known for years and considered a trusted member of her community. What started as mundane pleasantries rapidly devolved into a persistent stream of invasive, personal, and increasingly aggressive messages. For Nadia, the digital screen offered no protection; instead, it became a portal for harassment that she felt powerless to stop. She didn’t know who to tell, fearing that reporting the “digital” discomfort would only invite social stigma or be dismissed by authorities.
Then, the digital threats manifested into physical trauma. One afternoon, the neighbor forced his way into her home. The boundary between the screen and her sanctuary was shattered in a brutal assault. “He overpowered me,” Nadia recalls, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the memory. “I was paralyzed by fear and blacked out.” Her story is a harrowing testament to a growing crisis in Pakistan: the direct pipeline between online harassment and real-world violence.
The statistics surrounding this issue are staggering. Over the last five years, approximately 1.8 million women in Pakistan have been victims of cyber-crimes, ranging from blackmail and non-consensual sharing of private data to persistent stalking. Despite the scale of the problem, the legal system has struggled to keep pace; only 3.5 percent of perpetrators in these cases ever face conviction. In 2023 alone, the Digital Rights Foundation’s Helpline recorded nearly 2,500 complaints, with nearly 60 percent coming from women who had been targeted through platforms like WhatsApp and Facebook.
While Pakistan’s Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) of 2016 was designed to criminalize these behaviors—carrying penalties of up to three years in prison and heavy fines—the reality on the ground remains complex. Weak enforcement, a lack of specialized training for local police, and the pervasive fear of “honor”-based social repercussions often deter survivors from ever stepping into a police station. For many, the legal path feels like a second assault on their dignity.
However, the tide is beginning to turn through a revolutionary model of care: the Anti-Rape Crisis Cell (ARCC). When Nadia regained consciousness in a hospital following her attack, she was not met with the traditional skepticism or administrative hurdles that have long characterized the reporting process in Pakistan. Instead, her parents were able to take her to the country’s first ARCC in Karachi. Established in 2023 through a partnership between UN Women and the U.S. Embassy’s Office of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement (INL), the ARCC represents a paradigm shift in how the state handles sexual violence.
The ARCC model is built on the “one-stop-shop” principle. In the past, a survivor would have to visit a hospital for medical treatment, a separate police station to file a First Information Report (FIR), a different facility for forensic testing, and yet another office for legal aid or psychological counseling. This fragmented system often led to the loss of vital forensic evidence and forced survivors to retell their trauma to multiple, often insensitive, officials. The ARCC changes this by housing medical, legal, psychological, and forensic services under a single roof, available 24 hours a day.
For Nadia, this integrated approach was the key to her survival. The psychological counseling she received at the cell was instrumental in deconstructing the self-blame that often consumes survivors. “For the first time since the attack, I felt I wasn’t alone,” she says. “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 necessity of these cells is underscored by the broader landscape of violence in the country. According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, 6,624 rape cases were registered nationwide in 2023. This averages out to one woman being raped every 45 minutes—a figure that many activists believe is an undercount due to the number of cases that go unreported in rural areas. Historically, conviction rates have remained abysmally low, not just due to social stigma, but because of systemic failures in evidence collection and the drafting of legal reports.
The catalyst for legislative change was a moment of national reckoning in 2020, following a horrific gang rape on a major motorway. The incident, and the subsequent victim-blaming remarks made by some high-ranking officials, sparked nationwide protests. This public outcry led to the passage of the Anti-Rape Act of 2021. This landmark legislation mandated the creation of ARCCs in government hospitals, standardized medical protocols, and introduced more stringent protections for survivors during the judicial process.
However, as many legal experts note, a law is only as effective as its implementation. “In many cases, medical and legal officers are not properly trained on drafting reports,” explains Chaudhary Muhammad Jahangir, Director General of the Centre for Professional Development of Public Prosecutors. He notes that poorly written forensic reports often provide loopholes for perpetrators to escape justice. The ARCCs address this by ensuring that the staff—ranging from police surgeons to prosecutors—are specifically trained in the nuances of sexual assault forensics and trauma-informed care.
Dr. Summaiya Syed, the Chief Police Surgeon in Karachi and a leading advocate for the program, describes the cells as “transformative.” By bringing evidence preservation and FIR assistance into a medical setting, the system prioritizes the survivor’s health and dignity while simultaneously strengthening the legal case. The results are already becoming visible. What started as a pilot project in Karachi has expanded to six sites across Islamabad, Lahore, Multan, and Rawalpindi. In 2024 alone, these centers provided life-saving services to 437 survivors, including 219 children.
Jamshed M. Kazi, the UN Women Representative in Pakistan, views these cells as symbols of “hope and resilience.” The expansion of the ARCC network is a key part of Pakistan’s broader commitment to the Beijing+30 goals—a global framework for advancing gender equality. As the world observes the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence, the focus has increasingly shifted toward the “digital frontier,” highlighting the need for systems that can respond to the modern reality of online abuse.
For Nadia, the journey from victim to advocate is ongoing. Her perpetrator was eventually arrested and charged under the Anti-Rape Act. While the legal proceedings continue through the court system, Nadia has reclaimed her place at the head of the classroom. She has returned to teaching, but with a new sense of purpose. She now uses her experience to mentor other young women, teaching them how to recognize the warning signs of digital harassment and guiding them toward the resources available at the crisis cells.
“No woman should ever endure what I went through,” Nadia says firmly. “But if they do, I want them to know they are not alone.” The existence of the Anti-Rape Crisis Cells ensures that for the women of Pakistan, the path to justice no longer has to be walked in isolation. By integrating medical care with legal muscle and psychological support, the country is finally building a infrastructure that believes survivors, protects their dignity, and holds perpetrators accountable in both the digital and physical worlds.
As Pakistan continues to mobilize its efforts to end violence against women, the ARCCs stand as a blueprint for what is possible when government policy, international support, and grassroots advocacy converge. The goal is clear: to create a society where digital spaces are empowering rather than predatory, and where the justice system serves as a shield for the vulnerable rather than a barrier to their recovery. In the fight against sexual violence, these cells are more than just medical facilities; they are the front lines of a cultural revolution.
*Name has been changed to protect the survivor’s identity.
