Meesha Shafi is bravely dragging Pakistan towards its own #MeToo moment – and not a moment too soon

Pakistan’s entertainment industry is going through a crisis. Its golden boy, Ali Zafar, has been accused of sexual harassment by Meesha Shafi, a well-known supermodel, actress and singer, who starred in Mira Nair's 2013 film, The Reluctant Fundamentalist.

Zafar took the industry by storm in 2003, when he released a music album that sold more than 5 million copies and dominated the airwaves and awards. His fresh-faced, boy-next-door appeal helped him become arguably one of the most prominent celebrities the country has ever produced. He starred in Bollywood films, composed soundtracks for major sporting events, and was the face of global brands.

He has categorically denied all accusations against him, filing a defamation suit against Shafi, and the two stars have been locked in a protracted legal battle that has captivated the nation.

Harassment scandals which spill out into the public in Pakistan have been rare. The conservative local culture means that female victims, especially those that dare speak out, are often regarded with suspicion – accused of seeking attention or blamed for bringing "dishonour" upon themselves. Sadly, antiquated patriarchal systems and victim blaming are, to varying degrees, a universal issue.

The traditional role of women in Pakistan is still overwhelmingly seen as that of a homemaker. Pursuing a profession or a career is frowned upon because it’s perceived to impede a woman’s ability to focus her full attention on raising a family. Working usually means interacting with members of the opposite sex who aren’t spouses or relatives, which is also viewed disparagingly.

Many are discouraged simply because their parents or partners do not trust the male colleagues they will be working with. There are Pakistani men who don’t spot the irony when they object (IN ALL CAPS) to a local feminist on Twitter who posts “Men are Trash”, but then are extremely uncomfortable at even the thought of women in their lives venturing into public spaces unaccompanied, out of fear of them being harassed or molested.

Pakistani women often have to fight every step of the way just to get a job, first with their families for permission and then at their workplace against a sexist culture. When subjected to harassment, many have kept it to themselves in the past, having no confidence in their employer to address complaints satisfactorily, and wary of hearing “I told you so” at home.

Despite such seemingly widespread concerns about (other) men’s behaviour, women who do go public – much like in the rest of the world – have a hard time being believed.

More than a decade ago, Pakistan’s former dictator Pervez Musharraf callously dismissed the plight of Mukhtar Mai, a survivor of gang rape who was campaigning for justice and reform. He claimed that women in Pakistan were getting themselves raped in order to get visas, go abroad and make millions. Similarly, Zafar has insinuated that Shafi was making the allegations against him because she wanted to emigrate to Canada.

There are popular news anchors and hosts – many of them women – who have openly questioned why a sex symbol like Zafar would need to force himself on anybody. Pictures of Shafi in western attire, or of the two of them happily posing for the camera, are doing the rounds, with Zafar’s supporters somehow arguing that they prove her allegations are false. There is clearly a lot more work to be done in educating the masses about the concept of consent.

Women victims also face vitriol for supposedly bringing the country into disrepute. Mukhtar Mai had to face accusations she was trying to defame Pakistan. Malala faced similar in the aftermath of her attack, when she tried to shine a light on the plight of women’s education. I’m fairly certain this article will attract similar criticism too.

The rise of the #MeToo movement has brought discussion of women’s rights to the forefront across the globe, and the feminist cause in Pakistan too has gained momentum. However, Pakistani feminists have to contend with unique obstacles that hinder meaningful progress.

Feminism, in Pakistan, is dismissed by many, including prime minister Imran Khan. In a televised interview in 2018, he revealed that he disagreed with the “western concept” of feminism because it “degraded the role of the mother”. The national language, Urdu, lacks words or phrases pertaining to gender inequality. For example, many use the word zyadti (excess) for rape. There is another term, zina-bil-jabr (illicit sex/adultery by force) but it problematically fails to cover instances of marital rape.

It’s also worth remembering that most of the population does not use or have access to the internet. That means social media and other online platforms – which have been crucial tools to spread the #MeToo message in the West – have limited reach.

Nevertheless, local activists are a resilient bunch. Earlier this year, thousands of women took to the streets across several cities in Pakistan to demand equality and gender justice. There have been more and more instances of women, such as actress Nadia Jamil or PR Mogul Freiha Altaf, speaking out about sexual abuse. Emerging model Eman Suleman boldly pulled out of the 2019 Lux Style Awards, perhaps the local industry’s most prestigious event, seemingly in protest of Ali Zafar bagging a Best Actor nomination. Many others followed suit.

It is clear that things are changing. After much controversy over Shafi’s case being rejected on the basis that current workplace harassment legislation only covered an employer-employee relationship, Lahore High Court’s Justice Jawad Hasan passed a landmark judgement (Asif Saleem, 2019). It stated the law “extends to all acts of sexual harassment committed by employer or employee with any women (at the workplace) by misusing/exploiting his/her official position/capacity.”

So, some hard-earned progress then. But for the long suffering victims of the Pakistan patriarchy, the changes are not happening nearly fast enough.