When the Lahore High Court recently ruled that dependent parents can seek maintenance from their sons through family courts, it was widely described as a “landmark judgment.” At first glance, I agreed. The decision seemed to close a long-standing gap in family law by extending the jurisdiction of family courts to include parents alongside wives and children. On paper, it sounded progressive, a gesture of compassion towards neglected elders.
But a deeper look, guided by some probing questions, changed my view entirely.
In the comfort of legal reasoning, the judgment reads like an act of justice. Yet, when viewed through Pakistan’s economic landscape, it begins to look detached, even hollow. Around 40 to 45 per cent of our population lives in poverty, with nearly a quarter surviving below the poverty line. The average salaried worker earns about Rs. 40,000 to 50,000 a month, barely enough to cover rent, utilities, transport, food, and medicine for a small family.
How can such a person, living hand to mouth, be expected to provide additional financial support to aged parents? Even the most filial son cannot conjure money out of moral obligation.
A judgment that demands virtue without acknowledging reality risks becoming a moral performance, not a social solution. The court rightly spoke of Islamic duty, but it never paused to ask the most human question: what if the son simply cannot afford it?
Another troubling feature of the ruling is its fixation on sons. The judgment, like many of our laws, assumes that economic responsibility is a masculine duty. This is a patriarchal hangover that ignores a transformed social reality. Across Pakistan, thousands of daughters now hold stable jobs, many earning more than their brothers. They, too, were educated by the same parents whose sacrifices built their careers.
Pakistan’s ageing population deserves protection, but not through sermons wrapped in statutes
A fair interpretation of both Islamic and constitutional principles should make all children, not just sons, equally responsible for supporting their dependent parents according to their means. Justice that excludes daughters is not justice; it is selective morality.
The most glaring omission, however, lies in what the judgment refuses to see: the state’s own duty. Pakistan’s Constitution explicitly tasks the government with ensuring social security and welfare for its citizens, especially in old age and unemployment. Instead of reminding the state of this duty, the court transferred it to already overburdened individuals.
This legal shift is not accidental; it reflects a deeper institutional apathy. Our judiciary, like much of our political system, has grown accustomed to treating poverty as a private misfortune rather than a collective failure. Each moral sermon absolves the state of its obligations.
There are, of course, genuine cases where elderly parents are abandoned or denied help by well-off children. The law must remain open to them. But the courts should treat such petitions with contextual sensitivity, not as moral tests but as social assessments.
Before passing any maintenance order, the court should carefully evaluate the earnings, expenses, and dependents of both sons and daughters. If they are financially stable, it is fair and just to direct them to pay a reasonable monthly amount to ensure their parents’ survival and dignity.
However, where the children themselves are struggling, earning barely enough to sustain their own families, the responsibility must revert to the state, not the individual. The government should be directed to provide financial assistance or access to welfare programmes for such elderly citizens. This would reflect both Islamic compassion and constitutional responsibility.
Justice cannot be built on deprivation; it must be shared through social responsibility.
A humane judgment would have recognised both the right of parents and the economic limits of children. It could have directed the government to expand old-age support schemes or create a contributory social fund for the elderly. It could have emphasised that family maintenance is supplementary, a moral reinforcement, not a substitute for public welfare.
Instead, what we received is a ruling that preaches duty but ignores destitution. It offers the poor parent a piece of paper, a decree of maintenance, but not a rupee of sustenance.
My first impression of the case was shaped by its lofty language; it seemed to expand family law by recognising parents’ right to maintenance. Yet a judgment cannot be progressive merely by redefining legal terms; it must respond to the lives those terms govern. A truly landmark decision grounds justice in lived reality, in hunger, inflation, unemployment, and gender inequity.
This one, despite its moral appeal, hovers above the ground it was meant to touch.
Pakistan’s ageing population deserves protection, but not through sermons wrapped in statutes. We need a national policy that provides income security, healthcare, and dignity to the elderly, irrespective of their children’s means. The courts should lead this conversation, not sidestep it.
Until then, judgments like this will keep affirming moral truths while denying material ones. And we, as a society, will keep mistaking the sound of virtue for the substance of justice.