By Faiza Younis Raja
“The degree of civilisation in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” — Fyodor Dostoevsky
Fyodor Dostoevsky’s oft-quoted observation remains relevant because prisons reveal what a state believes justice should achieve. While courts determine guilt, prisons determine whether a justice system is driven by retribution, deterrence or rehabilitation. They expose the distance between constitutional ideals and institutional realities.
That question has gained renewed urgency following the adoption of the Islamabad Declaration on Prison Reforms, endorsed by the chief ministers of all four provinces at the National Conference on Prison Reforms convened by the Supreme Court of Pakistan. The declaration reflects an encouraging commitment to transform prisons from places of confinement into institutions of rehabilitation, education and reintegration.
Shortly after its adoption, I visited Central Prison Haripur as part of the Federal Judicial Academy’s Legal Internship Programme. The visit offered a firsthand glimpse of both the progress made and the challenges that continue to impede meaningful reform.
Evidence of change is visible. The e-production of undertrial prisoners has reduced logistical delays and unnecessary movement. E-visitation has made family contact easier. Vocational training, prison industries, educational programmes, drug rehabilitation and psychological counselling all signal a welcome shift away from viewing incarceration as an end in itself. By equipping inmates with skills and education, these initiatives improve their prospects of rebuilding their lives after release. They deserve recognition.
Yet prison reform cannot be measured solely by administrative efficiency or digital modernisation. A technologically advanced prison may still fall short of constitutional values if inmates are denied the basic conditions necessary for a life of dignity. The real test of reform lies not in the sophistication of its software but in the lived experience of those behind bars.
Consider the design of prison accommodation. In many prisons, inmates sleep, eat and attend to personal hygiene within the same confined space, often with little privacy. Such arrangements are not unique to Pakistan, but they nonetheless raise serious questions about dignity. These concerns are neither sentimental nor merely aspirational; they are constitutional. Article 14(1) of the Constitution states: “The dignity of man and, subject to law, the privacy of home, shall be inviolable.”
The same principle is reflected in the UN Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners, commonly known as the Nelson Mandela Rules, which require prison accommodation to meet basic standards of health, sanitation, ventilation, lighting and living space. Respect for dignity means more than protecting prisoners from physical abuse; it also requires humane conditions of daily life.
Comparative experience offers useful perspective. Finland’s correctional philosophy, particularly its system of open prisons, rests on a simple principle: the deprivation of liberty is itself the punishment. Prison conditions should not inflict unnecessary additional suffering. Living spaces are designed to resemble ordinary life as closely as possible, encouraging responsibility, independence and reintegration. Pakistan cannot simply transplant foreign models given its resource constraints, security concerns and prison population. But the underlying principle remains universal: architecture reflects values. The physical spaces we create reveal whether the state views prisoners as irredeemable offenders or as citizens capable of rehabilitation.
The need for reform becomes even more pressing when viewed through the lens of disability. For prisoners with physical, sensory or psychosocial disabilities, inaccessible facilities create a form of double punishment, where the loss of liberty is compounded by barriers to basic services. The consequences of institutional neglect are not merely theoretical. In 2010, while imprisoned in Central Jail Faisalabad, Abdul Basit, then a death row prisoner, reportedly developed a severe fever but was denied timely medical treatment for several weeks. By the time he was transferred to hospital after falling into a prolonged coma, he had been diagnosed with TB meningitis. The delayed treatment left him permanently paralysed from the waist down and dependent on a wheelchair. After spending years on death row with a disability, he was granted presidential clemency under Article 45 of the Constitution and released on October 1, 2025. His case illustrates how inadequate healthcare and inaccessible prison conditions can inflict irreversible harm beyond the punishment imposed by the courts. Despite Pakistan’s obligations under the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, accessibility remains largely absent from discussions on prison reform. Closing this gap requires updating prison rules to incorporate accessibility standards, healthcare requirements and the principle of reasonable accommodation reflected in Mandela Rule 5. Infrastructure upgrades should include accessible sanitation, adaptive living spaces and other measures that ensure no prisoner is excluded because of disability.
The Islamabad Declaration is an important beginning, but declarations alone do not transform institutions. Real reform takes sustained political commitment, investment and administrative resolve. The efforts of prison officials working under difficult conditions deserve acknowledgement, but progress must extend beyond policy announcements and digital innovation to improve the physical realities of incarceration.
Pakistan’s prison system still bears the imprint of a colonial model designed to control rather than rehabilitate. If colonial prisons were built to govern subjects, today’s prisons must be reimagined to restore citizens. The measure of a just society lies not only in how it punishes wrongdoing, but also in whether it preserves human dignity while doing so.
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