Acid on the Face of Justice: Lessons from the Dr. Mahnoor’s Case

By Muhammad Ali Duggal

The acid attack on Dr. Mahnoor Nasir, a postgraduate trainee doctor in Quetta, is not merely another criminal incident to be added to Pakistan’s long list of gender-based crimes. It is a painful reminder that despite legislative progress, women continue to remain vulnerable to extreme forms of violence at the hands of individuals who believe rejection, resistance, or independence justifies brutality. While the attack left visible scars on the victim, it also exposed the invisible wounds within Pakistan’s legal and institutional framework. The incident forces an uncomfortable question upon lawmakers, law enforcement agencies, and society alike, if strong laws already exist, why do such crimes continue to occur?

Acid violence occupies a unique position within criminal jurisprudence because its purpose often extends beyond causing physical injury. Unlike many violent crimes, acid attacks are frequently designed to permanently disfigure, humiliate, and psychologically destroy the victim. The objective is not merely punishment but lifelong suffering. For this reason, acid violence has increasingly been recognized as one of the most severe manifestations of gender-based violence, implicating not only criminal law but also constitutional guarantees of dignity, equality, and personal security.

Pakistan’s legal response to acid attacks underwent a significant transformation through the Criminal Law (Second Amendment) Act, 2011, which introduced Sections 336-A and 336-B into the Pakistan Penal Code. Section 336-B specifically criminalizes hurt caused by corrosive substances and prescribes punishment ranging from fourteen years’ imprisonment to life imprisonment, together with a substantial fine. The offence is non-compoundable, reflecting the legislature’s recognition that such crimes transcend private disputes and constitute offences against society itself. These provisions represented a landmark shift from the earlier approach in which acid attacks were prosecuted under general hurt provisions that failed to capture the unique gravity of the offence.

Yet the Mahnoor Nasir case demonstrates that legislation alone cannot guarantee protection. Reports surrounding the incident suggest that the accused had allegedly subjected the victim to persistent harassment before the attack. Such circumstances are unfortunately familiar. In many cases of acid violence, warning signs emerge long before the crime occurs, including stalking, threats, workplace harassment, coercive behaviour, and repeated intimidation. The inability of institutions to effectively respond to these early indicators often transforms preventable violence into irreversible tragedy. Consequently, the real failure lies not only in punishing offenders after the attack but in preventing the attack from occurring in the first place.

The legal landscape has recently evolved further. Punjab’s enactment of the Punjab Acid Control Act, 2025 represents Pakistan’s first comprehensive attempt to regulate the supply chain of highly corrosive substances through mandatory licensing, stricter monitoring mechanisms, and criminal liability for negligent sellers. The legislation recognizes an important reality: effective prevention requires more than punishing attackers; it requires restricting access to the very instruments of violence. However, the fragmented provincial approach remains problematic. While Islamabad benefits from a dedicated victim-support framework and Punjab has adopted supply-chain regulation, other provinces continue to rely primarily upon the federal criminal provisions. This uneven protection creates disparities in victim support, rehabilitation, and preventive regulation.

The judiciary has repeatedly emphasized that crimes targeting women demand serious legal scrutiny and cannot be trivialized as private disputes. Contemporary constitutional jurisprudence increasingly views violence against women through the lens of fundamental rights, particularly the rights to dignity, security of person, and equal protection of law. Such an approach is essential because acid attacks are rarely isolated acts of violence; they are often the culmination of broader patterns of harassment, coercion, and gender-based discrimination. Judicial intervention, however, can only operate effectively once a matter reaches the courtroom. The challenge remains ensuring that administrative and investigative institutions respond with equal urgency before violence escalates.

Equally concerning is the plight of survivors after the criminal process begins. Acid attack victims frequently require years of reconstructive surgeries, specialized ophthalmic treatment, psychological counselling, and social rehabilitation. For many survivors, the criminal trial represents only a small part of a much larger struggle. The law’s success should therefore not be measured solely through conviction rates but also through the quality of medical, financial, and psychological support provided to victims. A justice system that punishes offenders while neglecting survivors delivers only partial justice.

The Mahnoor Nasir case also highlights the broader relationship between workplace safety and gender-based violence. Professional women increasingly occupy positions of visibility and authority across Pakistan. Yet their participation in public life remains threatened by harassment and retaliation. When institutions fail to address complaints at an early stage, they risk creating environments in which perpetrators feel emboldened and victims feel unprotected. Consequently, acid violence must be understood not merely as a criminal issue but as a workplace, human rights, and governance concern.

The true significance of the Mahnoor Nasir case lies in what it reveals about the gap between legal promise and lived reality. Pakistan possesses one of the harshest statutory punishment regimes for acid attacks in the region. Nevertheless, deterrence is weakened when preventive mechanisms fail, when harassment complaints are ignored, when corrosive substances remain inadequately regulated, and when survivors struggle to access rehabilitation services. Every acid attack therefore represents more than an individual crime; it is a measure of institutional effectiveness and societal commitment to protecting fundamental rights.

The law has undoubtedly evolved. Punishments have become harsher, regulatory frameworks have expanded, and public awareness has increased. Yet the persistence of acid violence demonstrates that legislation without implementation remains an incomplete victory. The scars borne by survivors should serve as a reminder that justice is not achieved merely by-passing laws, it is achieved when those laws successfully prevent harm, protect the vulnerable, and hold perpetrators accountable before lives are permanently altered.

Suggestions:

Pakistan should establish a uniform national framework governing acid regulation, victim rehabilitation, and survivor compensation across all provinces. Institutions must adopt zero-tolerance policies toward stalking and workplace harassment, recognizing them as potential precursors to serious violence. Fast-track prosecution mechanisms should be strengthened, specialized burn and rehabilitation centers should be expanded, and legal aid must be made readily accessible to survivors. Most importantly, state institutions must shift from a reactive model of justice to a preventive one. The real success of the law will not be measured by the severity of punishment imposed after an attack but by the number of attacks prevented before they occur.