Few crimes expose the deeper fault lines of power, entitlement and gendered vulnerability as starkly as acid attacks. According to the Acid Survivors Foundation (ASF), Pakistan continues to witness roughly 200 such cases every year.
Despite the existence of stringent legislation and enhanced sentencing frameworks, the persistence of this violence reveals a sobering reality: the crisis is not the absence of law, but the absence of certainty in enforcement. In criminal justice systems, it is not the severity of punishment that deters crime, but the inevitability of its application.
Acid attacks are calculated instruments of coercion, retaliation and control, designed to permanently disfigure and psychologically dismantle the victim. Yet their persistence cannot be understood solely through the lens of individual intent; it must be situated within a system in which law exists in the abstract but weakens in practice. Investigations are often delayed or inadequately conducted, with limited forensic capacity to properly handle chemical violence. Police response mechanisms remain inconsistent, and evidence collection is frequently compromised at the earliest stages of reporting.
According to the Acid Survivors Foundation (ASF), failures in acid violence cases extend beyond investigation into prosecution. Prosecutorial capacity is often overstretched and lacks the specialised expertise required for complex chemical assault cases, meaning prosecutions tend to fail not on questions of guilt but on procedural breakdowns that erode the chain of causation over time. Survivors are left to navigate prolonged legal processes while enduring severe physical and psychological trauma, frequently compounded by social pressure and intimidation that deters the pursuit of justice. Beyond the courtroom, the continued informal availability of acid in loosely regulated markets sustains the cycle of violence.
The recent case of Dr Mahnoor, a young doctor at Civil Hospital Quetta, brings these systemic weaknesses into sharp relief. Attacked within her workplace by a hospital employee, she suffered severe acid burns to her face and upper body. Although she received immediate emergency treatment and was later transferred for specialised care, the incident highlights a deeper institutional vulnerability: even spaces presumed to be safe are not insulated from gendered violence.
Dr Mahnoor’s case is not an exception in its brutality, but in its visibility, reflecting how ordinary settings can become sites of extraordinary harm when deterrence fails. Within the same incident, the intervention by Abdul Razzaq, a hospital worker who rushed to save her and sustained burns himself, is a reminder of individual courage in moments of institutional absence. But it also highlights a troubling structural truth: protection should not depend on spontaneous heroism.
In a notable judgment reported from the Supreme Court of Pakistan, a three-member bench emphasised that acid attacks are more heinous than homicide. The reasoning is clear: while homicide ends life, acid violence prolongs suffering, inflicts irreversible disfigurement and imposes lifelong social exclusion. Yet, judicial recognition alone cannot compensate for institutional fragility at the investigative and prosecutorial levels.
A central dimension of this fragility lies in regulatory neglect. Although legal frameworks exist to govern hazardous substances, enforcement over the sale, transport and storage of acid remains inconsistent. Informal markets continue to operate with minimal oversight, ensuring that corrosive substances remain easily obtainable. This accessibility is a direct enabler of violence. When the means of harm are readily available and deterrence is uncertain, legal prohibition loses practical force.
The consequences for survivors extend far beyond the immediate injury. Acid burns require prolonged medical treatment, multiple reconstructive surgeries and long-term psychological rehabilitation. The most enduring harm, though, often emerges after physical recovery begins: social exclusion. Survivors frequently encounter barriers in education, employment and marriage, and are too often reduced to their injuries in public perception rather than recognised as individuals with rights, aspirations and futures. In effect, the violence continues through societal response.
Civil society organisations such as the Depilex Smileagain Foundation, founded by Musarrat Misbah, the Acid Survivors Foundation (ASF) Pakistan and Umeed Pak play a crucial role in filling gaps left by the state. They provide medical rehabilitation, legal assistance and vocational training, often enabling survivors to rebuild aspects of their lives that formal institutions fail to restore. However, such initiatives should be understood as compensatory rather than substitutive. The responsibility for prevention and enforcement remains fundamentally a state obligation.
Ultimately, addressing acid violence requires moving beyond symbolic legality towards operational certainty. Pakistan does not lack laws; it lacks consistent enforcement, institutional coordination and procedural integrity. Until investigations become reliable, prosecutions become swift and specialised, witness protection becomes credible and access to acid is meaningfully regulated, the gap between law and lived reality will persist.
The writer is a law student.
