Either it be the death of Laiba Ejaz, who committed suicide after being defrauded by an overseas education consultant, or 15-year-old Waseem Abbas, who was run over by his employer in Multan, every high-profile crime triggers a familiar, heavy wave of grief and public outrage across the country.
With the masses’ immediate, visceral reaction being a demand for retribution, both accused were killed within days of their arrests and the official police narratives follow a strikingly predictable script.
In Laiba’s case, primary suspect Muhammad Nauman was reportedly being led out for recoveries when his accomplices opened fire, fatally wounding him in the crossfire. In Multan, Waseem’s accused killer, Tauqeer Nazir, allegedly escaped police custody before being cornered near Bahawalpur in a Crime Control Department (CCD) shootout where police stated he was struck by his own accomplice’s bullet.
Official versions exist, but they have done little to quell a mounting national debate. Instead, these deaths have blown open a much deeper, uncomfortable conversation about accountability, institutional patterns and the very definition of justice.
The specific narrative where an under-custody suspect is taken by police to a location for “crime scene identification” or “evidence recovery,” only to be ambushed and “accidentally killed” by their own fleeing accomplices, is widely recognised by human rights organisations and judiciaries as a textbook euphemism for a staged police encounter.
The skepticism surrounding both recent encounters was also not born in a vacuum.
During a recent exchange, journalist Shahzeb Khanzada pressed Punjab Information Minister Azma Bokhari on a recurring and systemic pattern in which CCD and police records have shown over 900 encounters where suspects are taken for recoveries, attacked by fleeing accomplices and subsequently killed while their accomplices manage a clean getaway.
Khanzada’s core query cut straight to the bone that if suspects routinely die in transit or escape attempts, how is actual justice being ensured. While Bokhari pushed back against the sweeping characterisation and offered to furnish specific case details, the political friction itself highlighted the sensitivity of the issue.
The debate even spilled over within political ranks as Punjab lawmaker Hina Pervaiz Butt faced criticism from within her own party after tweeting about “swift justice”, a post that was subsequently deleted.
Journalists and activists have also pointed to international models, such as the European legal framework, to remind the public that true accountability relies on transparent trials and structured imprisonment, not state-sanctioned shortcuts.
At the heart of this debate lies fundamental constitutional principles: Article 9 of the Constitution that guarantees the security of person and Article 10A that explicitly enshrines the right to a fair trial and due process.
No matter how heinous the accusation, proving guilt and handing down punishment is legally and morally the mandate of a court of law, not a police shootout in the dark.
While critics of the judicial system, and supporters of extrajudicial killings, often point to systemic flaws such as delayed trials, tampered evidence and high acquittal rates due to prosecutorial loopholes in failures that demand urgent and comprehensive legal as well as police reforms, bypassing these failures through extrajudicial killings does not fix the justice system. The practice dismantles it entirely.
As legal philosophers have long questioned if the accidental acquittal of a guilty person is truly a greater societal collapse than the erosion of the presumption of innocence and the state’s monopoly on lawful execution, when convenience supersedes the Constitution, every citizen loses.
If we celebrate the death of an accused simply because public sentiment dictates their guilt, we abandon the safety net that protects the innocent as these unchecked powers can be weaponised against political dissidents, whistleblowers or ordinary citizens caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The ultimate question raised by the tragedies of Laiba and Waseem is not merely about the fate of two suspects, but it is a mirror held up to our collective conscience. Until we summon the political and institutional will to fix the criminal justice system, we will remain trapped in this cycle of blood, grief and hollow vengeance.
