It can be tempting to wish for Zahir Jaffer to be dragged into the gallows, once and for all, for his immediate condemnation, trial be damned. Pakistani women are no strangers to the violence perpetuated against them, often from those closest to us. It’s easy for many of us to see our own abusers, harassers, liars and cheats, in Zahir Jaffer, switch him out for the monsters in our own lives. After all, he is easy to hate: a privileged party-boy from Islamabad, who likely rarely heard no and, despite frightening many of his friends long before he committed his most heinous act, was never placed in proper protection. We want to make sure he is a black sheep, as though getting rid of Zahir Jaffer will somehow rid Pakistan of all the evil he represents.
But even if Zahir Jaffer is put to death, Pakistan will still be a difficult country for women. His death will not put an end to the hundreds of ‘honor killings’ each year; it will not propel more women into the workforce; it will not improve literacy rates; it will not stop the constant threat of violence against women.
We should not let Zahir Jaffer become a scapegoat. That would be too easy.
For better or for worse, Zahir Jaffer is a Pakistani citizen who committed a serious crime and, not despite of this but because of it, he should be afforded a full and fair trial, granted the same rights as all citizens. He has a right to due process, to a fair trial, to representation, to plead his case, however futile, before a judge in a court of law. His lawyers, while defending him, are also upholding one of the basic tenants of a free and fair legal system: everyone should be treated equally before the law. As difficult as it may be, these court hearings are important, and a fair trial for Zahir Jaffer is what keeps our society from denigrating into mob rule.
Watching accused murderer Zahir Jaffer appear in court is a maddening spectacle. He was caught red handed, almost quite literally, at the scene of the crime; video evidence showed him dragging a reluctant Noor Mukadam into his house just hours before her death. He has shown up in court denying that he understood Urdu, waved his American citizenship around like some sort of shield, feigned hysteria, fought policemen, insulted the judge, refused to stand up, has been paraded in on a stretcher like some sort of delinquent nawab and finally, his energies exhausted, sat wearily on the floor, his head in his hands.
What separates civil society from people like Zahir Jaffer is the rule of law. We should not let ourselves become the very thing we hate. When violent mobs seek ‘pitchfork vengeance,’ they must feel what many of us feel looking at Zahir Jaffer. They must feel hatred at what’s been done, an affront to everything we hold dear, the desecration of the sacred. But just as we condemn the violent mobs, we too must quell such sentiments and cautiously place our faith in the judicial process. Justice is not revenge. We should not wish for swift justice, but for fair, measured and complete justice. That is the society we should aim for, not one driven by rage and hatred.
The rule of law and due process must be reaffirmed whenever possible. We cannot pick and choose who is worthy of due process. In a country where violent temperaments abound, and a seemingly minor infraction can cost you your life, too much is at stake.
What Zahir Jaffer’s trial should represent is not his banishment, but an affirmation of due process before the law. In its verdict, we can hope the judiciary confirms the sanctity of women’s lives, affirms that the judiciary will take appropriate action against those who violate Pakistan’s laws – regardless of who the perpetrator or victim are.
Of course, Zahir Jaffer is no ordinary citizen. He’s the son of a wealthy family from Islamabad. Zahir was apparently in contact with his parents during the two days he kept Noor trapped in his house. Did they urge him to seek help? Implore him to call the police? Rush home to save their son and Noor? They did not. Cradled by a culture of impunity, they stayed on vacation, calling a local mental health organization to deal with their son. Although both parents bear responsibility for Noor’s death, Zahir’s mother has been released on bail. In her stead, the house’s domestic staff stand on trial next to her wayward son.
Justice may appear slow in this case, but it is only because of the national spotlight. Regular prisoners, those who are poor, or whose crimes have not caught media attention, languish in jail for years before they are presented before a judge. The fact that Zahir Jaffer’s trial has so quickly commenced is too much mercy for him already.
While the public outcry has certainly applied pressure to the judiciary, and rightfully so, due process must be allowed to take its course. The fact that Zahir Jaffer was apprehended so quickly, and remains behind bars, is testament to the thousands of women who rallied and railed for justice for Noor. However, his arrest and punishment are only the beginning and ends of the story. In the critical center is a fair, if laborious, trial. With the eyes of the world on this trial, it is now up to the courts to uphold Pakistan’s constitution, and for the rest of us to try our faith in the legal process, once again.
But even if Zahir Jaffer is put to death, Pakistan will still be a difficult country for women. His death will not put an end to the hundreds of ‘honor killings’ each year; it will not propel more women into the workforce; it will not improve literacy rates; it will not stop the constant threat of violence against women.
We should not let Zahir Jaffer become a scapegoat. That would be too easy.
For better or for worse, Zahir Jaffer is a Pakistani citizen who committed a serious crime and, not despite of this but because of it, he should be afforded a full and fair trial, granted the same rights as all citizens. He has a right to due process, to a fair trial, to representation, to plead his case, however futile, before a judge in a court of law. His lawyers, while defending him, are also upholding one of the basic tenants of a free and fair legal system: everyone should be treated equally before the law. As difficult as it may be, these court hearings are important, and a fair trial for Zahir Jaffer is what keeps our society from denigrating into mob rule.
Just as we condemn the violent mobs, we too must quell such sentiments and cautiously place our faith in the judicial process.
Watching accused murderer Zahir Jaffer appear in court is a maddening spectacle. He was caught red handed, almost quite literally, at the scene of the crime; video evidence showed him dragging a reluctant Noor Mukadam into his house just hours before her death. He has shown up in court denying that he understood Urdu, waved his American citizenship around like some sort of shield, feigned hysteria, fought policemen, insulted the judge, refused to stand up, has been paraded in on a stretcher like some sort of delinquent nawab and finally, his energies exhausted, sat wearily on the floor, his head in his hands.
What separates civil society from people like Zahir Jaffer is the rule of law. We should not let ourselves become the very thing we hate. When violent mobs seek ‘pitchfork vengeance,’ they must feel what many of us feel looking at Zahir Jaffer. They must feel hatred at what’s been done, an affront to everything we hold dear, the desecration of the sacred. But just as we condemn the violent mobs, we too must quell such sentiments and cautiously place our faith in the judicial process. Justice is not revenge. We should not wish for swift justice, but for fair, measured and complete justice. That is the society we should aim for, not one driven by rage and hatred.
The rule of law and due process must be reaffirmed whenever possible. We cannot pick and choose who is worthy of due process. In a country where violent temperaments abound, and a seemingly minor infraction can cost you your life, too much is at stake.
What Zahir Jaffer’s trial should represent is not his banishment, but an affirmation of due process before the law. In its verdict, we can hope the judiciary confirms the sanctity of women’s lives, affirms that the judiciary will take appropriate action against those who violate Pakistan’s laws – regardless of who the perpetrator or victim are.
Of course, Zahir Jaffer is no ordinary citizen. He’s the son of a wealthy family from Islamabad. Zahir was apparently in contact with his parents during the two days he kept Noor trapped in his house. Did they urge him to seek help? Implore him to call the police? Rush home to save their son and Noor? They did not. Cradled by a culture of impunity, they stayed on vacation, calling a local mental health organization to deal with their son. Although both parents bear responsibility for Noor’s death, Zahir’s mother has been released on bail. In her stead, the house’s domestic staff stand on trial next to her wayward son.
Justice may appear slow in this case, but it is only because of the national spotlight. Regular prisoners, those who are poor, or whose crimes have not caught media attention, languish in jail for years before they are presented before a judge. The fact that Zahir Jaffer’s trial has so quickly commenced is too much mercy for him already.
While the public outcry has certainly applied pressure to the judiciary, and rightfully so, due process must be allowed to take its course. The fact that Zahir Jaffer was apprehended so quickly, and remains behind bars, is testament to the thousands of women who rallied and railed for justice for Noor. However, his arrest and punishment are only the beginning and ends of the story. In the critical center is a fair, if laborious, trial. With the eyes of the world on this trial, it is now up to the courts to uphold Pakistan’s constitution, and for the rest of us to try our faith in the legal process, once again.