As I sit down to write this week, there’s a weight on my heart, a heaviness born from the violence, injustice, and silence that continue to haunt our society. A few days ago, I was deeply disturbed by a harrowing incident of a bike rider savagely beaten in public, while his sisters stood helpless, pleading for mercy. The assailant, shielded by wealth, armed guards, and a monstrous vehicle, brazenly asserted his privilege. In a society where power protects the powerful, no one dared to intervene. The girl’s cries echoed in the news headlines for a day or two, but then, as always, they faded. Yet her voice lingers in my mind.

That same week, while I was still processing this public display of violence and impunity, another tragedy unfolded, one even more devastating. Sana Yousaf, a young and rising social media influencer, was brutally murdered in broad daylight. Her crime? She dared to say “no.” She refused the romantic advances of a man who believed he was entitled to her attention. On her birthday, in the supposed safety of her home, her life was snatched away by someone she had rejected multiple times. I hesitate to call her a “TikToker” because it is a term that in our cultural context has become heavily loaded, often misused to trivialise and vilify women online. I had never followed Sana, but after her death, I looked her up. What I saw surprised me. Her content was light-hearted, wholesome, and modest. She came across as sincere and lively. There was no obscenity, no provocation. She was simply a beautiful, young woman enjoying the freedom to express herself. And yet, that was enough for some to feel entitled to possess her.

Much like other social media influencers killed in the name of honor, Sana’s murder has sparked debates over women’s presence on social media forums and whether it “invites” harassment. But being visible does not mean being available. Expressing yourself online does not mean giving consent to be approached, bullied, or owned. Sana’s death was not about morality, it was about control. About the fragile male ego that cannot bear rejection. About entitlement, so deeply rooted in patriarchy that a woman saying “no” feels like a threat that must be eliminated.

In Pakistan, women have long been burdened with the concept of “honour.” Their bodies, behaviours, and choices are viewed as expressions of familial dignity. Why is honour a gendered construct? Do our men not carry the family’s name and honour? Are their actions not reflections of the same social values? Why, then, are women made the sole bearers of collective morality? This deeply entrenched idea of women as the guardians of honour reduces them to lifeless dolls, beautiful, delicate, and voiceless. Dolls to be protected, hidden, placed in corners, admired but not heard. This metaphor strips women of agency and reinforces the belief that it is men who must decide how they live, dress, speak, and appear in the world.

Social media has further complicated this dynamic. On the one hand, it has provided a platform for expression, community, and empowerment. On the other hand, it has exposed women to relentless scrutiny, harassment, and danger. Visibility, in a world where misogyny thrives both online and offline, has become a double-edged sword. We’ve seen it before, too, Qandeel Baloch, murdered by her brother in the name of honour. Noor Mukaddam, brutally killed by a man she once called a friend. And now, Sana Yousaf, silenced forever by a man who couldn’t handle rejection. These women were killed not by strangers, but by people they knew, people who felt entitled to control them.

What we are witnessing is not just isolated acts of violence. It is a cultural clash between outdated traditions demanding silence and obedience, and the modern desire for autonomy, dignity, and self-expression. Our society is transforming, but the gatekeepers of power are resisting the change. To the women reading this: Be cautious, yes. But more importantly, be courageous. You may not be safe, but you are not alone. These are times that test our resilience more than ever. Stand firm. Speak up. Claim your space. Whether online or offline, in private conversations or public forums, advocate for one another. Don’t turn away. Don’t stay silent. The world may not listen at first, but the chorus of women’s voices rising in unison cannot be ignored forever. Let us not wait for the next Sana, or the next Noor!

Let us act now, in the name of justice, not in the name of honour.