For A Society that cannot protect its daughters must first repair its conscience. Do Civil Society and Concerned Citizens Owe an Apology to the Budgam Victim?
Dr. Fiaz Maqbool Fazili
Days ago, it was Eid—a day of joy, reconciliation, and prayer. Yet this year, I could not write a customary Eid message. An innocent budding rose was desecrated before it could bloom. A little daughter, whose future should have been filled with dreams, became a victim of unimaginable cruelty. While families exchanged greetings, my heart bleeds for little Iman (name changed) and for every daughter whose innocence has been violated by a society that failed to protect her. This is not merely one family’s grief. It is a wound upon the collective conscience of an entire community.
Another daughter. Another grief. Another shattered family. Another expression of outrage. Another promise that “this must never happen again.” Yet as public attention shifts elsewhere, a haunting question remains: How many more daughters must be lost before we truly wake up? Will a reformed civilized society—where every child and woman lives with dignity and safety—ever become a reality? Are seminars, workshops, candle marches and photo opportunities enough, or must civil society demonstrate genuine concern through sustained reformative steps at ground leading to preventive and corrective action?
Can we change our stereo approach and response? The rising perversity and declining societal values concerning the safety and dignity of women in the Valley demand serious introspection and genuine ground work. Recent tragic incidents across the valley have highlighted a deeply troubling increase in crime, violence and attacks against women, raising urgent questions about public safety, moral and social values, the effectiveness of legal responses, fear of God and our collective responsibility as a community.Beyond slogan-shouting, emotional condemnations, and fiery speeches delivered in closed halls and seminar rooms, will we witness any meaningful steps and visible change on the ground? Will society move from expressions of outrage to sustained action? Will families, educational institutions, religious leaders, civil society, mohalla committees and community influencers work together to rebuild respect, accountability, and protection for women?
Who Is Failing the Nirbhaya’s and Princesses of Haya of the Valley? For years, this question has baffled me and compelled me to reflect on where we, as a society, are going wrong. The time has come to look beyond rhetoric and ask whether our actions truly match our concerns. Unless words are followed by commitment, vigilance, responsibility, meaningful reform, the cycle of grief, outrage, and forgetfulness will continue, while the safety and dignity of our daughters remain at risk.
INTROSPECTION; Little Iman is now beyond human cruelty. Inna Lillahi wa Inna Ilayhi Raji’un. Her suffering has ended. But for those left behind, grief remains, along with a question society cannot escape.Do we, as a community, owe “Iman “ an apology? Not because we committed the crime. Not because we knew what would happen. But because we may have failed in our collective duty to build a just, disciplined and moral society where innocence is protected, wrongdoing is challenged before it matures into violence, and safeguarding children is everyone’s responsibility.
Whenever such tragedies occur, the response follows a typical familiar pattern: police investigate, media reports, leaders issue statements, social media erupts, civil society condemns. All this is necessary. Justice must be done, and it must be visible to send a strong message: “Don’t ever dare.” The guilty must be punished according to the law of land . Yet if our response begins and ends with punishment, without addressing root causes, we risk overlooking a deeper truth. A crime may be committed by an individual, a pervert, or a predator but the moral environment in which that crime emerges belongs to society.The question is not only, “Who committed this crime?” The equally important question is: “What kind of society are we becoming?” In moments of grief, attention turns to law-enforcement agencies. Their role is indispensable, but a police officer cannot accompany every child., lanes . A court cannot patrol every street. A prison cannot teach morality. A law can punish wrongdoing, but it cannot create conscience.
The true guardians of society are found in homes, schools, mosques, neighborhoods, mohallas and community institutions—in the values we teach our children, the conduct we tolerate, and the standards we collectively uphold. Long before police become involved, society determines what deserves honor and what deserves shame. That responsibility belongs to all of us.
We often hear terms like civil society, concerned citizens, community leaders. But what do these labels truly mean? Do they mean organizing seminars and issuing statements after tragedy? Or do they carry a deeper obligation? A truly concerned citizen recognizes responsibilities and prioritizes social disorder over misplaced priorities like ecology or language issues. A genuine civil society ensures a system that protects the vulnerable before they become victims. Parents, teachers, religious scholars, mohalla committees, women’s groups, youth groups, community elders—all these institutions shape behaviour and establish moral boundaries. If they become passive, society becomes vulnerable.
The Holy Quran repeatedly emphasizes enjoining good and forbidding evil. The Prophet (peace be upon him) taught that whoever witnesses a wrong should stop it if able; if not, then speak against it; and if unable even to do that, reject it in the heart. Indifference to wrongdoing represents the weakest level of moral responsibility. The message is clear: moral indifference is dangerous. A healthy society survives not because evil disappears, but because good people actively resist it.Unfortunately, many communities have become reactive rather than preventive. We mourn after tragedy. We condemn after tragedy. We protest after a tragedy. We demand reforms after tragedy. But where is our preventive activism? Where is our collective effort to address conditions that precede violence? Where is the sustained campaign against substance abuse, domestic violence, online toxicity, promiscuity, pornography, and the erosion of family values? Where are neighbourhood conversations about child or women safety? Where are community mechanisms that identify risks before disaster strikes?One of the greatest misconceptions is that evil always announces itself. It does not. Evil often wears a familiar, trusted face—a neighbour, an acquaintance, a tutor or someone who appears ordinary while concealing profound moral collapse. That reality should make communities more vigilant, not less. The greatest victories of evil are often achieved through indifference.
Communities rarely decline overnight. They deteriorate gradually—one ignored warning signs, one tolerated wrong, one overlooked injustice, one silence after another—until society finds itself horrified by consequences it failed to prevent. The tragedy of Iman should compel us to ask difficult questions. Have we normalized social problems that should alarm us? Have we become more interested in debating politics than protecting women and children? Have we become spectators rather than guardians? Have our priorities shifted away from protecting the dignity and safety of our daughters? These are not accusations. They are invitations to introspection.
Justice for “ Binte Hawa ,”demands more than emotional social media posts, seminars, press statements, photos and ritual grief. Though they are important in awareness,education, root cause analysis and exploring what can be done to prevent such incidents in future.The real challenge is whether, this time, we can move beyond slogans about “samaj sudhar “,and endless debates over types of punishment to address deeper social failures . Can civil society, parents, educators, religious institutions, and community leaders sustain meaningful engagement long after public outrage fades? Too often, our response follows a fatal cycle: horrific crime occurs, emotions erupt, vigils are held, statements issued, promises made—then attention shifts until the next tragedy shocks us again. As Kashmiris often say, “Tott Samovar” ,—the samovar cools when the fuel is exhausted. Our concern must not cool with the headlines. Justice for “Binte Hawa “requires sustained moral courage, social accountability, community vigilance, and an unwavering commitment to protecting our daughters. The true measure of our conscience will not be what we post today, but what we continue to do tomorrow
A law serves its true purpose not merely when it punishes, but when it sends the strongest possible message of accountability, deterrence, and retribution for heinous crimes. If justice is perceived as delayed, diluted, or disconnected from the gravity of the offence, public outrage often fades with time, and society gradually becomes resigned to recurring tragedies.This write up is not a call for vigilantism, moral policing or mob justice. It is a call for lawful, organized, sustained social reform. Women’s organizations must continue advocating for safety and dignity. Mohalla committees must become active partners in child protection. Schools must invest in character-building alongside academics. Religious institutions must reinforce accountability before Allah swt, respect for human dignity, and the sanctity of life. Concerned citizens must move beyond symbolic outrage and become active participants in prevention. The goal is not merely to punish criminals. The goal is to create conditions in which fewer crimes occur. The true measure of any civilization is not its wealth or slogans. It is how effectively it protects its most vulnerable members. And there can be no one more vulnerable than a child or woman. Every child / woman has a right to safety, dignity, and a home. When that trust is violated, the wound extends far beyond one family. It injures the conscience of an entire society.Perhaps the most meaningful tribute to Iman is not another speech, statement, seminar, or social media campaign. It is a sincere commitment to reform ourselves—to become more vigilant, compassionate, responsible, and courageous in confronting social wrongs before tragedy strikes. Then perhaps we may finally find the courage to say:
I Wept Swallowing Fire !“Dear Iman , we could not give you the safe world you deserved. We could not protect your innocence. For that, we are deeply sorry. But your memory will not disappear into statistics or headlines. Your name will remind us that every daughter is a sacred trust, every child is precious, and every community has a responsibility to protect them.”History will not judge us by how loudly we mourned. History will judge us by what we changed. Will this tragedy become another passing headline, or a turning point in our collective conscience? The answer lies not with governments alone, nor courts alone, nor police alone. It lies with all of us. For a society that cannot protect its daughters must first repair its conscience.
May Allah grant this little rose the highest ranks of Jannatul Firdaus, grant patience to her grieving family, and awaken our hearts before another daughter becomes another grief. Because a civilized society is not defined by the intensity of its outrage after tragedy. It is defined by the strength of its resolve to prevent the next one. Our “Adda Phota Gulab,”-. Rest in the truth that your gruesome murder was not just a crime. It was a verdict — on all of us. And we are guilty.
The author is a columnist who writes on civilized society, ethical values, healthcare, and social reforms, and regularly raises awareness on issues concerning moral responsibility, civic consciousness, and community welfare.
