Latest news with #NADRA
Business Recorder
2 days ago
- Business
- Business Recorder
Pak Identity app: NADRA says enables citizens to swiftly obtain FRC
ISLAMABAD: NADRA spokesperson & Director Syed Shabahat Ali disclosed that the department is leveraging advanced technology to transform its services, allowing citizens to swiftly obtain their Family Registration Certificate (FRC) and access vital family information with just a few taps on their mobile devices through the Pak Identity app. In an exclusive conversation with a local news channel, NADRA spokesperson revealed that individuals will now be able to view a comprehensive list of their family members as registered in NADRA' s database. This new feature aims to provide greater transparency and ensure that citizens have easy access to their family records, he added. Furthermore, the spokesperson emphasized that the NADRA mobile application plays a key role in this modernization, allowing users to access not only their Family Registration Certificate (FRC) but also complete registration details of their family. This move is expected to streamline the process and provide more convenience to the public. By incorporating these advancements, NADRA is making its system more transparent, user-friendly and accessible, he assured. The spokesperson also highlighted how these technological improvements are aimed at enhancing the overall experience for citizens, making it simpler to manage and track family-related information. The spokesperson also highlighted that NADRA is taking significant steps towards empowering women by providing them with the option to choose either their husband's or father's name, based on their preference. This flexibility in the Family Registration Certificate (FRC) is aimed at supporting women's autonomy and ensuring they have control over how their family records are represented. Additionally, the inclusion of women's names in the FRC will have a positive impact on legal and property-related matters, such as succession certificates and inheritance issues, he said, adding, this development will make it easier for women to claim their rightful share and navigate property disputes, further strengthening their legal standing. In response to a question, he explained that previously, the Family Registration Certificate (FRC) was primarily used as a reference for family composition and had no legal weight. However, under the new regulations, providing false or misleading information on an FRC can result in criminal charges. This change is designed to prevent fraudulent claims and strengthen the integrity of identity data in the national registry, he added. Another significant update is the requirement for applicants to verify their entire family tree when applying for an FRC, he said, adding, now through mobile app they can also get the facility to apply for any corrections. Individuals will now be shown a complete list of their family members as recorded in NADRA's database. If the information is accurate, the applicant will confirm it through a signed declaration, known as an 'Affidavit Bayan-e-Halfi,' ensuring that all individuals listed are validated by the applicant, he added. Addressing a question, he added that NADRA is actively working to assist people living in slums or without a stable home. To ensure that no one is left behind, mobile registration vans are being deployed to these areas, making it easier for people to get registered and access vital services. He also assured that NADRA is fully committed to ensuring that everyone, regardless of their living situation has access to essential registration services, adding, the mobile vans are part of a broader initiative to bridge gaps in accessibility, bringing NADRA' s services directly to marginalized and remote communities. This proactive approach aims to ensure inclusivity and equal opportunities for all citizens, he added.
Express Tribune
3 days ago
- Politics
- Express Tribune
There is no honour in this
A few days ago, a graphic video surfaced on social media, shaking the collective conscience of Balochistan. It showed a man and a woman being gunned down in cold blood in the Digari region near Quetta, the provincial capital. What followed was a wave of public outrage, intense media coverage, and swift government responses. The Digari double murder, now confirmed as an honour killing, is not just a criminal case but a stark reflection of a society caught between legal responsibility and tribal authority, between constitutional rights and deeply rooted patriarchal control. The brutality of the incident was amplified by the digital age, but became the reason that it went viral. A video, reportedly filmed by the perpetrators themselves, circulated widely, displaying the execution of two individuals, later identified as Ehsanullah and Bano Bibi. The graphic footage sparked horror across Balochistan and rest of the country, not just for its violence, but for the manner in which the killings were carried out. Initial social media reports suggested that the victims were a couple who had married against their families' wishes, framing the incident as a typical honour killing linked to a romantic elopement. However, officials later clarified that both individuals were already married with children and did not have such a relationship, challenging the initial narrative. This clarification, however, did not soften the nature of the crime, it only deepened the tragedy. State as complainant: a shift or singular response? In many honour killing cases across Pakistan, silence is weaponised. Families often refuse to register complaints, either out of fear, complicity, or adherence to tribal codes. As a result, justice is obstructed before it even begins. The Digari case followed a similar initial pattern — both families declined to file a First Information Report (FIR), leaving the state to intervene. In a rare move, the Government of Balochistan stepped in as the complainant, registering the case under anti-terrorism laws. Chief Minister Sarfraz Bugti declared on X (formerly Twitter), 'Justice will be served, and all legal channels will be pursued.' Authorities swiftly used NADRA's facial recognition tools to identify suspects from the viral video, resulting in over a dozen arrests. Among those taken into custody were tribal leader Sardar Sherbaz Khan Satakzai and Bashir Ahmed, both remanded by the Anti-Terrorism Court in Quetta. Officials insisted that tribal status would not shield the accused from prosecution. Yet, this sudden demonstration of state resolve raises important questions: Is this a watershed moment in how the state handles gender-based violence? Or is it a reactive posture spurred more by digital visibility than by policy or principle? Because for every case that goes viral, there are countless others that never make headlines. What about Shazia Bibi, killed by her husband in Naseerabad last October over allegations of an affair? Or Asiya Bibi, murdered by her uncle on July 18, this year under similar suspicions? Both cases barely registered outside their immediate communities, even though after being reported in media, like many others, they are now fading from public memory. The state's proactive role in Digari is notable, but it highlights an uncomfortable inconsistency: justice appears to depend on visibility. For women whose deaths are not filmed, tweeted, or shared, the system still remains largely indifferent. A mother's confession In a development that blurred the lines between justice and belief, a video emerged showing the mother of the female victim, Gul Jan, holding a copy of the Holy Quran and openly confessing to the murder. 'Yes, we killed them,' she says in Brahui language, 'but this was not dishonourable; it was done according to Baloch traditions.' Gul Jan, who described how her daughter had left home for 25 days and her paramour allegedly threatened her brother, did not express remorse. Instead, she justified the act as necessary to restore honour. This public confession reveals the moral architecture within which such acts occur. Gul Jan was arrested and handed over to the Serious Crime Investigation Wing. Yet, her defiant tone resonates with many in rural Balochistan. Political reactions and institutional condemnations Unusually, the Digari incident prompted rare political unity. The Balochistan Assembly unanimously passed a joint resolution condemning the murders. Prominent figures like Rubaba Buledi, Raheela Durrani, and Shahida Rauf called for tougher enforcement and the dismantling of tribal courts that operate outside the law. 'No one has the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner,' the resolution stated. While encouraging, these statements must be examined critically. Historically, such condemnations have not translated into concrete legislative change. In the past five years many have been killed in the name of honour across Balochistan. Very few cases reached the courts; even fewer resulted in convictions. Tribal conundrum Perhaps the most disturbing layer of this case is the underlying tribal code that continues to sanction and legitimise such killings under the banner of tradition. Reports suggest that a tribal jirga allegedly issued a formal decree for the victims' deaths — a claim that, while unconfirmed, reflects the enduring presence of parallel justice systems in parts of Balochistan. Sardar Kamal Khan Bangulzai of the National Party, along with other Sarawan chieftains, publicly condemned the arrest of Sardar Sherbaz Khan Satakzai, calling it baseless and a violation of the sanctity of his chadar and char dewari — the cultural principle safeguarding one's home and honour. They demanded his immediate release. Former chief minister Nawab Aslam Raisani has also supported a tribal investigation into the case. Critics argue that tribal processes are often applied selectively — protecting influential families while penalising the marginalised. Women, in particular, bear the brunt of this dual system, where protection is determined not by rights, but by status. Maulana Hidayat, the Ameer of Jamaat-e-Islami Balochistan, added another dimension to the debate, condemning the killings while simultaneously rejecting the influence of what he terms 'Western culture.' 'This boyfriend and girlfriend culture is against Islam, Baloch and Pashtoon traditions,' he says. 'I condemn this killing, but I will not allow someone to enter my house and take my daughter, nor will I allow my daughter to elope with someone.' His statement reflects the complex interplay between religion and tradition. Advisor to the Chief Minister on Women Development, MPA Dr Rubaba Buledi, responded to such justifications by pointing out that the true tribal values of justice, honour, and protection have been manipulated to justify gender-based violence —especially against those without power or privilege. An ongoing pattern According to Allah Uddin Khilji provincial Director of the Aurat Foundation, over 250 women were killed in the name of honour in Balochistan between 2019 and 2024. In 2024 alone, 43 women and 14 men have been murdered under accusations of [blackening a woman's character]. 'This is gender-based violence, not cultural tradition,' Khilji says. 'It's a crime rooted in misogyny, not honour.' Social Activist Hameeda Noor emphasises that these incidents are often systemic. 'Watta satta marriages, child brides, giving women away as blood money — these are all symptoms of a deeper crisis,' she says. Moreover, as Noor highlights, many such incidents remain unreported. Institutions only document what's officially registered, while untold numbers of women disappear silently. Courts vs jirgas Activist Bahram Lehri frames the issue of honour killings within the wider context of state failure and economic collapse. Referring to the Digari double murder, he points out that the incident took place over a month before the video surfaced online yet local authorities took no action until public outrage forced a response. 'There is no governmental writ,' he states. 'This incident is an example — as the video came out on social media after one and a half months. The area has Levies and security forces, but nobody found out about it until it went viral.' Lehri further connects the violence to systemic economic disenfranchisement: 'There is a saying that idle men's minds are homes for the devil,' he says. 'The economic question can't be separated, as the men are jobless, unemployed, and idle — their minds are homes for the devil.' According to him, the lack of trust in the judicial system leads people to take matters into their own hands: 'People don't trust the judicial system and courts. FIR wasn't even registered in the current case, and now the state itself has become the complainant in the case.' He adds that the tribal code of conduct allows no room for negotiation in such matters: 'Tribal code of conduct is zero tolerance over such matters of honour and people often tend to go for their own ways in settling these issues and the result is killings in the name of honour.' Lehri's comments highlight the grim intersection of poverty, failed governance, and entrenched tribal authority, where women's lives are often lost in the name of restoring so-called honour—and justice is left hanging in the balance. A lost opportunity for reform The governance of Balochistan remains ensnared in a paradox — a clash between the formal legal framework of the state and the entrenched tribal structures that continue to wield immense influence over society. This tension dates back decades. In the 1970s, Baloch nationalist leader Nawab Khair Bakhsh Marri, with the support of then-Chief Minister Sardar Attaullah Mengal, made a bold attempt to abolish the tribal chieftaincy system, recognising its incompatibility with justice and democratic governance. Despite provincial assembly approval, this resolution was quietly shelved by the federal government under Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, leaving the tribal hierarchy intact. Ironically, today the mainstream Pakistani media paints Nawab Khair Baksh Marri and Sardar Attaullah Mengal through a lens of hereditary and feudal lords and Bhutto as a champion of democracy. History tells otherwise! The recent brutal honour killing in Digari is a grim reminder of this unresolved contradiction — where tribal authority and traditions supersede legal protections, and where the state's writ falters in protecting basic human rights. This case is more than a local tragedy; it reflects the deep-rooted governance failures and societal fractures in Balochistan. The persistence of tribal dominance, coupled with weak state enforcement and political complicity, perpetuates cycles of violence, especially against women. It raises fundamental questions about the rule of law, the reach of justice, and the cost of political expediency in a province long caught between tradition and modernity. The gendered machinery of silence The Digari double murder is not an isolated act of brutality — it fits into a broader and deeply troubling landscape of systemic impunity, where violence, particularly gender-based violence, thrives under the shadow of entrenched power. The recent exposé by international influencer and content creator Angela Carson offers a revealing lens into how both men and women — local and foreign — can become targets of exploitation when legal and political institutions are co-opted by the powerful. Carson alleges that during her time in Pakistan, she experienced intimidation, abuse, and threats to her safety, with some of the alleged perpetrators linked to elite political circles — including individuals reportedly associated with the Chief Minister's House. Her claims suggest a disturbing pattern in which personal and institutional power is used not to protect the vulnerable, but to suppress them. What Carson's experience makes clear is that the abuse of power is not always violent in its methods, but it is always violent in its impact. Victims are often gaslighted, discredited, or shamed into silence. In Balochistan, women like Bano Bibi are murdered under the pretext of restoring honour. Elsewhere, survivors are isolated through smear campaigns or legal threats — often orchestrated by those with unchecked access to political or institutional authority. The link between Carson's allegations and the Digari killings lies not in the specifics of the cases but in the systems that allow such harms to occur. Whether through tribal decrees or political protectionism, these systems share one aim: to protect the reputation of the powerful at the cost of justice for the vulnerable. What can be done? While federal law already criminalises honour killings, implementation remains patchy. As Fauzia Shaheen, former and first chairperson of Balochistan Commission on Status of Women argues, 'There is no need for a separate honour killing law in Balochistan as the federal one covers it but there is an urgent need for implementation.' She advocates for a new provincial law to counter harmful traditional practices against women. Starting with mapping those customs and proposing protective measures. Meanwhile, Buledi emphasises a multi-pronged strategy: Speedy prosecution and deterrent punishment. Support services for at-risk women. Community policing and gender-sensitivity training. Public campaigns to redefine 'honour.' Yet, perhaps the most powerful solution lies not in policy alone, but in collective societal change. 'The role of religious leaders, communities, and the media is critical,' Buledi says. 'We must reject the very notion that a woman's life can be sacrificed to uphold some distorted sense of honour.' The price of silence The Digari double murder is not an anomaly, it is the logical outcome of a system where law is negotiable, tribal power is unchallenged, and women's lives are expendable. If not for a viral video, this tragedy might have faded into obscurity, like so many others. It has now become a test case for the government, for civil society, and for everyone who seeks a future where justice does not bow to tradition, where women's lives are not bargaining chips, and where silence no longer shields murder. Balochistan stands at a crossroads. Whether this moment leads to systemic reform or vanishes into another forgotten chapter depends not just on arrests and resolutions but on a sustained, collective reckoning with the toxic myths of honour that continue to cost lives. Mohammad Zafar Baloch is a freelance journalist based in Quetta All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer.
Express Tribune
6 days ago
- Politics
- Express Tribune
Chinese woman's khula takes legal twist
A case filed by a Chinese woman seeking divorce (khula) from her Pakistani husband has taken a new twist after conflicting decisions from the high court and a lower court, raising questions over whether she can legally obtain khula in Pakistan, who will get custody of their 12-year-old daughter, and whether the woman will be granted a visa to stay in the country until the matter is resolved. According to court documents, Chinese national Mir Guli married Shah Zeb, a trader from Charsadda, in China in 2011. A year later, she gave birth to a daughter, Sofia. Mir Guli claims that her husband, without informing her, registered Sofia's record with NADRA in Pakistan, effectively revoking her Chinese nationality, but did not register Mir Guli as his wife. Distressed by her husband's behaviour, she filed for khula in a Pakistani family court. Her counsel, Supreme Court Advocate Saeed Yousaf Khan, said the case took a major turn when Shah Zeb's legal team argued before the family court that since the marriage took place in China and was registered there, Pakistani courts lacked jurisdiction to decide on the matter. However, Justice Sajid Mehmood Sethi of the Rawalpindi Bench of the Lahore High Court ruled that the case could indeed be heard and decided in Pakistan where the wife is residing. The judge directed the lower court to hear the matter on a daily basis, keeping in view the woman's visa status, and instructed the Ministry of Interior's visa section to review her case. Despite this, Family Court Judge Taimoor Afzal dismissed Mir Guli's khula plea on jurisdictional grounds on the same day the high court declared the case admissible. An appeal has now been filed before the Sessions Judge, along with a separate petition for custody of 12-year-old Sofia, who is currently living with her father.
Malay Mail
7 days ago
- Business
- Malay Mail
Without papers: Ghost lives of millions of Pakistanis
KARACHI, July 23 — Ahmed Raza is invisible in the eyes of his government, unable to study or work because, like millions of other Pakistanis, he lacks identification papers. In the South Asian nation of more than 240 million people, parents generally wait until a child begins school at the age of five to obtain a birth certificate, which is required for enrolment in most parts of Pakistan. Raza slipped through the cracks until the end of elementary school, but when his middle school requested documentation, his mother had no choice but to withdraw him. 'If I go looking for work, they ask for my ID card. Without it, they refuse to hire me,' said the 19-year-old in the megacity of Karachi, the southern economic capital. He has already been arrested twice for failing to present identification cards when stopped by police at checkpoints. Raza's mother Maryam Suleman, who is also unregistered, said she 'didn't understand the importance of having identity documents'. 'I had no idea I would face such difficulties later in life for not being registered,' the 55-year-old widow told AFP from the single room she and Raza share. Pakistan launched biometric identification cards in 2000 and registration is increasingly required in all aspects of formal life, especially in cities. In 2021, the National Database and Registration Authority estimated that around 45 million people were not registered. They have declined to release updated figures or reply to AFP despites repeated requests. To register, Raza needs his mother's or uncle's documents—an expensive and complex process at their age, often requiring a doctor, lawyer or a newspaper notice. The paperwork, he says, costs up to US$165 (RM698.40) —a month and a half's income for the two of them, who earn a living doing housework and odd jobs in a grocery shop. Locals whisper that registration often requires bribes, and some suggest the black market offers a last resort. 'Our lives could have been different if we had our identity cards,' Raza said. 'No time or money' In remote Punjab villages like Rajanpur, Unicef is trying to prevent people from falling into the same fate as Raza. They conduct door-to-door registration campaigns, warning parents that undocumented children face higher risks of child labour and forced marriage. Currently, 58 percent of children under five have no birth certificate, according to government figures. Registration fees depend on the province, ranging from free, $0.70 to $7 -- still a burden for many Pakistanis, about 45 percent of whom live in poverty. 'Our men have no time or money to go to the council and miss a day's work,' said Nazia Hussain, mother of two unregistered children. The 'slow process' often requires multiple trips and there is 'no means of transport for a single woman,' she said. Saba, from the same village, is determined to register her three children, starting with convincing her in-laws of its value. 'We don't want our children's future to be like our past. If children go to school, the future will be brighter,' said Saba, who goes by just one name. Campaigns in the village have resulted in an increase of birth registration rates from 6.1 per cent in 2018 to 17.7 per cent in 2024, according to Unicef. This will improve the futures of an entire generation, believes Zahida Manzoor, child protection officer at Unicef, dispatched to the village. 'If the state doesn't know that a child exists, it can't provide basic services,' she said. 'If a child does not have an identity, it means the state has not recognised their existence. The state is not planning for the services that the child will need after birth.' Muhammad Haris and his brothers, who have few interactions with the formal state in their border village in the mountainous province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, have not registered any of their eight children. 'The government asks for documents for the pilgrimage visa to Mecca,' a journey typically made after saving for a lifetime, he told AFP. For him, this is the only reason worthy of registration. — AFP
Arab News
22-07-2025
- Politics
- Arab News
Without paper: Ghost lives of millions of Pakistanis
KARACHI: Ahmed Raza is invisible in the eyes of his government, unable to study or work because, like millions of other Pakistanis, he lacks identification papers. In the South Asian nation of more than 240 million people, parents generally wait until a child begins school at the age of five to obtain a birth certificate, which is required for enrolment in most parts of Pakistan. Raza slipped through the cracks until the end of elementary school, but when his middle school requested documentation, his mother had no choice but to withdraw him. 'If I go looking for work, they ask for my ID card. Without it, they refuse to hire me,' said the 19-year-old in the megacity of Karachi, the southern economic capital. He has already been arrested twice for failing to present identification cards when stopped by police at checkpoints. Raza's mother Maryam Suleman, who is also unregistered, said she 'didn't understand the importance of having identity documents.' 'I had no idea I would face such difficulties later in life for not being registered,' the 55-year-old widow told AFP from the single room she and Raza share. Pakistan launched biometric identification cards in 2000 and registration is increasingly required in all aspects of formal life, especially in cities. In 2021, the National Database and Registration Authority estimated that around 45 million people were not registered. They have declined to release updated figures or reply to AFP despites repeated requests. To register, Raza needs his mother's or uncle's documents — an expensive and complex process at their age, often requiring a doctor, lawyer or a newspaper notice. The paperwork, he says, costs up to $165 — a month and a half's income for the two of them, who earn a living doing housework and odd jobs in a grocery shop. Locals whisper that registration often requires bribes, and some suggest the black market offers a last resort. 'Our lives could have been different if we had our identity cards,' Raza said. In remote Punjab villages like Rajanpur, UNICEF is trying to prevent people from falling into the same fate as Raza. They conduct door-to-door registration campaigns, warning parents that undocumented children face higher risks of child labor and forced marriage. Currently, 58 percent of children under five have no birth certificate, according to government figures. Registration fees depend on the province, ranging from free, $0.70 to $7 — still a burden for many Pakistanis, about 45 percent of whom live in poverty. 'Our men have no time or money to go to the council and miss a day's work,' said Nazia Hussain, mother of two unregistered children. The 'slow process' often requires multiple trips and there is 'no means of transport for a single woman,' she said. Saba, from the same village, is determined to register her three children, starting with convincing her in-laws of its value. 'We don't want our children's future to be like our past. If children go to school, the future will be brighter,' said Saba, who goes by just one name. Campaigns in the village have resulted in an increase of birth registration rates from 6.1 percent in 2018 to 17.7 percent in 2024, according to UNICEF. This will improve the futures of an entire generation, believes Zahida Manzoor, child protection officer at UNICEF, dispatched to the village. 'If the state doesn't know that a child exists, it can't provide basic services,' she said. 'If a child does not have an identity, it means the state has not recognized their existence. The state is not planning for the services that the child will need after birth.' Muhammad Haris and his brothers, who have few interactions with the formal state in their border village in the mountainous province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, have not registered any of their eight children. 'The government asks for documents for the pilgrimage visa to Makkah,' a journey typically made after saving for a lifetime, he told AFP. For him, this is the only reason worthy of registration.
