When justice speaks in different voices for the weak and the powerful, public trust becomes the first casualty.
There are moments in the life of a nation when the real defendant is not a man, an institution, or even an allegation. It is the nation’s conscience.
Pakistan is once again standing before one of those mirrors from which no society can turn away. The reflection staring back is not asking whether we possess laws. It asks a far more unsettling question: Do our laws possess us equally?
Every civilized state derives its moral authority from a simple covenant with its citizens: that the law shall neither bow before wealth nor salute influence. Justice is expected to walk into every courtroom wearing the same blindfold, carrying the same scales, and speaking with the same voice. The moment those scales begin to recognize faces, names, fortunes, or television ratings, justice ceases to be justice. It becomes negotiation.
This article is not a verdict upon any individual or any organization. Courts—not columnists—decide guilt or innocence. Yet every citizen has both the right and the responsibility to ask whether the principles of equality before the law are being upheld with consistency. Public confidence is strengthened not only by fair outcomes, but by the visible, impartial application of legal process.
The Holy Qur’an reminds believers with timeless clarity:
“O you who believe! Stand firmly for justice, as witnesses for Allah, even if it be against yourselves, your parents, or your close relatives.”
-(Surah An-Nisa 4:135)
Those words do not distinguish between the anonymous and the celebrated, the poor and the privileged, the ordinary citizen and the influential institution. Justice, if it is truly justice, recognizes no hierarchy except truth.
Perhaps that is why the greatest tests of a nation rarely arrive carrying swords. They arrive carrying influence. They ask a quiet question that echoes through every generation:
Will principle prevail—or will power whisper softly, “So… let it be”?
For Muslims, the honour of the Holy Prophet Muhammad [Peace and blessings be upon him] is not a matter of sentiment alone. It is the axis upon which faith revolves. It transcends nationality, ethnicity, language, political affiliation, and even sectarian differences. A believer may disagree with another believer on countless worldly matters, yet they stand shoulder to shoulder when the sanctity of the Last and Final Prophet is touched. That unity is neither orchestrated nor manufactured. It springs from the deepest chambers of faith.
The Holy Qur’an elevates the Messenger of Allah to a station unlike any other:
”Indeed, Allah confers blessing upon the Prophet, and His angels ask Him blessings. O you who believe, ask blessings upon him and salute him with all respect.”-(Surah Al-Ahzab 33:56)»
This reverence is not a cultural habit. It is a Divine command.
The Prophet Muhammad [Peace and blessings be upon him] also established an enduring principle of justice. He declared:
”By Allah, if Fatimah, the daughter of Muhammad, were to steal, I would cut off her hand.” -(Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 6788; Sahih Muslim, Hadith 1688)»
The lesson reaches far beyond its immediate context. Justice loses its soul the moment it distinguishes between the ordinary citizen and the influential, between the unknown individual and the celebrated institution. Equality before the law is not merely a constitutional aspiration; it is a moral obligation.
The English jurist William Blackstone observed,
“It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.”
Civilized societies have embraced that principle because justice demands fairness, restraint, and due process. Yet Blackstone’s wisdom carries another implication: every allegation deserves an impartial legal process, regardless of who stands accused. Equality before the law is not measured by the identity of the weak alone, but by the accountability of the strong.
This, then, is not a debate about silencing the press, nor is it a contest between liberty and faith. A free press is indispensable to democracy. Equally indispensable is public confidence that no individual, corporation, or institution stands beyond the reach of the law. Freedom without responsibility descends into licence. Responsibility without freedom becomes oppression. A mature democracy safeguards both.
Somewhere between those two truths, :BaBa Tal”—the Bell-man—appeared.
His navy-blue robe carried tiny brass bells that barely stirred in the evening breeze. He looked towards the fading horizon and smiled with the sadness of a man who had watched generations mistake noise for courage. “Bacha,” he whispered, “a nation is not tested when the powerless stand before the law. It is tested when power does.”
The bells chimed only once.
Then silence carried the rest of his sermon.
Every nation eventually arrives at a defining moment—not when its laws are written, but when those laws are tested.
Pakistan has witnessed many controversies involving religion, the media, and public sentiment. Some have been manipulated for political gain. Others have been inflamed by rumour before facts could emerge. A mature society must reject both extremes. Neither mob passion nor selective silence can substitute for the rule of law.
It is against this backdrop that the recent controversy surrounding a Geo News Muharram transmission must be understood.
According to public reports, content aired during the sacred month of Muharram was alleged to have offended religious sentiments, prompting the Pakistan Electronic Media Regulatory Authority (PEMRA) to invoke its regulatory framework and suspend the channel’s transmission for fifteen days. Geo News subsequently acknowledged the lapse, apologised publicly, and announced internal disciplinary action.
Those are the publicly known facts.
The real question begins after the headlines.
Should the matter end with an apology? Should institutional regret alone satisfy the demands of accountability? Or should the legal process identify whether specific individuals, if found responsible under the law, ought to answer for their actions?
These are not questions of vengeance.
They are questions of justice.
A democratic society does not punish institutions merely to satisfy public anger. Nor should it shield individuals simply because they happen to work for a powerful institution. The rule of law requires something far more disciplined: individual responsibility established through due process, free from public hysteria and equally free from privileged protection.
There is an old English maxim:
“Justice must not only be done; it must also be seen to be done.”
Those few words have guided courts across the common-law world for generations because public confidence depends not only upon fair outcomes but also upon visible fairness.
The same principle applies here.
If the law reaches the anonymous citizen but hesitates before the influential, it sends a dangerous message: that equality is conditional, and accountability negotiable.
BaBa Tal stood quietly beside the sea.
The evening wind toyed with the little brass bells stitched onto his navy-blue robe.
He did not look towards the television studios.
He looked towards the courthouse.
Then, almost as if speaking to the waves themselves, he murmured,
”Bacha… if the media house is not to be shut down, let those responsible face the law.”
The bells answered with a single chime. Even the sea seemed to understand.
When Principles Become Personal
This is where the real test begins.
A society does not reveal its character when it condemns the obvious. It reveals its character when the offender is familiar, influential, or politically useful. That is when principle is tested. That is when outrage becomes selective. That is when the loudest defenders of morality start hunting for excuses.
Pakistan has suffered from this disease for far too long.
We demand accountability from the weak and indulgence for the powerful. We call for law when law protects our sentiment, and for restraint when law threatens our allies. We speak of justice as if it were a slogan, not a discipline. But justice that bends before status is not justice; it is privilege wearing a mask.
If a media house crosses a line, the question is not whether it is beloved, feared, or politically connected. The question is whether the line exists at all. If it does, then it must apply to everyone. If it does not, then all our sermons about dignity, responsibility, and respect were only performances for the crowd.
There is another silence that deserves mention. Many clerics and self-proclaimed religious leaders, who are quick to speak on lesser matters, remain silent when the criticism turns toward a media house that has exposed the failures of leadership in their own circles. They fear the cost of confronting such power, and so they choose caution over conviction. Their silence is not neutrality; it is fear dressed as piety.
That is why this debate matters beyond one controversy.
It is not merely about one broadcast, one anchor, or one institution. It is about whether Pakistan can still distinguish between criticism and convenience, between principle and partisanship, between law and loyalty.
A nation that cannot apply its own standards evenly will eventually lose the moral authority to defend them anywhere.
BaBa Tal listened without interrupting. Then he said softly,
”Bacha… the most dangerous lie is not the one spoken by enemies. It is the one spoken by friends who know better.”
He looked toward the darkening horizon.
The wind had begun to rise.
And with it came an old truth:
A principle that changes its face for power is no principle at all.
Every nation inherits laws.
Only a few earn the privilege of being called just.
Pakistan now stands before a simple yet uncomfortable question. The issue is no longer whether a mistake was made. The issue is whether the law will travel the same road regardless of who stands at its end.
Where is the law? Where is Section 295-C of the Pakistan Penal Code?
Where is the conscience that should awaken when the honour of the Holy Prophet Muhammad [Peace and blessings be upon him] is at stake?
Can anyone truly measure the throbbing love carried in the hearts of nearly 2.4 billion Muslims for the Last and Final Prophet?
If justice is blind, should it also be silent?
If the law is equal, why should equality stop at the threshold of power?
Marine Drive had almost disappeared into the evening mist.
“BaBa Tal” stood beside old Foxy, [the mustard-coloured Volkswagen] that had faithfully carried more questions than answers through the years. He rested one hand upon its weathered bonnet and looked toward the fading horizon.
The bells on his navy-blue robe remained silent. At last, he whispered,
”Bacha… justice delayed may wound a nation. But justice denied wounds its soul.”
He straightened.
The bells chimed once.
Then BaBa Tal walked quietly into the gathering dusk.
*POETEARS* [coined by T. Hejazi- where poetry becomes tears, and tears become poetry.]
Yesterday, they shook the streets for every sparrow’s cry;
Today an eagle passes… and every voice walks by.
Their courage wore a costume stitched for weaker prey;
The mighty wrote the script, and courage looked away.
The balloons of borrowed leadership tremble in the breeze;
Conviction bows to comfort, surrendering with ease.
Justice should know no titles—no palace, throne, or fee.
Power whispers softly… “So, let it be.”
Also Read: Planting the Tree of Love: Good Neighbours, Not Reunion — A Hejazi Call to India and Pakistan
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