What an internship at AGHS Lahore taught me about law and feminism in Pakistan

By Noor e Emaan

In 75 years since the formation of Pakistan, the country has not been able to unshackle itself from poverty and social oppression. To make matters worse, our courts are largely inaccessible to common people and justice is delayed.

Women, in particular, are one of the most vulnerable groups in society, and the wage gap and lack of education make it near impossible for them to seek legal help independently. Driven to be of service to this marginalised group, I aspired to take up a career in law.

In the summer of 2023, I started my first internship at the acclaimed AGHS Legal Aid Cell, Lahore. My mother initially rejected the idea, as she didn’t think it was safe for teenage girl to be going in and out of courts and law-enforcement facilities. But her peace-activist friends encouraged us, and even introduced me to one of the senior advocates at the firm.

AGHS Legal Aid Cell was founded by leading activist and lawyer Asma Jahangir in 1980. Its mission was to provide legal help for free to women, especially those from impoverished backgrounds.

Jahangir, who passed away in 2018, was one of Pakistan’s most eminent feminist activists. She founded the groundbreaking Women’s Action Forum and was also co-founder of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan.

Kofi Annan, former Secretary-General of the United Nations, said of her: “She spoke truth to power, and power was forced to listen.”

Through its work, AGHS has impacted all layers of Pakistani society with several landmark cases related to crimes against women, women and child trafficking, domestic abuse, and police responsibility.

On average, 11 rape cases are reported daily in Pakistan and 32 percent of Pakistani women report facing violence. But considering the stigma attached with reporting such incidents, these numbers are likely to be gross underestimations.

AGHS also holds educational legal workshops for women on the topics of sexual and gender-based violence. Their Paralegal Program, launched in 1989, educates women on different topics such as fundamental rights, marriage laws, identity laws and so on. The program has had over 44,000 beneficiaries so far.

Before I began my internship, I didn’t know what to expect, or what work I would be doing. There were four other interns with me, all doing their Bachelor’s, with me being the youngest of the lot. The people at AGHS were all supportive and encouraging, and the atmosphere at the office was almost homely. Wholesome meals are prepared every day in the kitchen, including dishes such as aloo-mattar (potato pea curry) and dal (lentils), and everyone eats together.

It was the first time I read the Constitution of Pakistan in detail – from an unbound book at the law firm’s library. I also went through the Annual Law Digest, in which the cases ranged from domestic arguments to gruesome murders.

In an age of desensitised media reporting, it was eye-opening for me to sit through meetings with victims of domestic abuse or gender violence or family negligence. It made me realise how privileged I am because I have choices most of my countrywomen don’t.

Narrating her tale to one of the senior attorneys and us interns in the library, a small woman with a large shawl draped over her shoulders told us about the financial abuse she faced from her husband. Speaking in Punjabi, she described how he had confiscated her nikkah-nama (marriage certificate) and pretended for 15 years that it did not exist, so that she could not seek a divorce.

A mother and daughter came in during the last week of my internship. The daughter, crying, said that her in-laws had kicked her out of the house six months earlier and had taken away all her money and belongings. She worked to support her husband’s illness but he too had suddenly turned his back on her.

While the atmosphere was usually calm and organised inside the AGHS office, I experienced the opposite at the Family Court in Lahore. It felt like there were at least 30,000 people busying about through five interconnected buildings, each about five or six storeys high.

The pathways leading to the court were cold and wet with large, unrepaired craters in the ground. Once inside the court building, I had to jostle to find space in the elevators, which rarely worked properly and had at least 15 people outside on each floor arguing about who would go in first. The stairs too had multitudes going in both directions, making it difficult to make one’s way through. Everyone was in a state of frenzy as if the world was running out of time.

The courts are small rooms with a division in between, one side for the judge’s private chamber while the other is for hearings. Each courtroom had about 50 people cramped inside. I saw parents arguing in front of the judges, screaming obscenities to each other over child or divorce matters.

I was told by the AGHS attorney that a single case could be delayed up to four years here and 98 percent of Pakistan’s legal matters are decided in these courts. The rest two percent go up to the High Court and Supreme Court, where things function more smoothly and long delays are uncommon.

As the internship progressed, I finally had a chance to visit the Lahore High Court. The difference was remarkable. Thousands of people turned into only a few hundred with large canteens and resting rooms for lawyers. The courtrooms were large with comfortable seating arrangements, and security personnel outnumbered civilians. The cases taken up ranged from family feuds to criminal cases. The work was fast-paced but efficient.

By the end of my internship, I realised how different the legal system of Pakistan is from the romanticised version in movies, and how millions of cases of vulnerable women are simply ignored or put on the back-burner.

To make matters worse, government spending on justice and law, one of the important sectors of public service, is limited. Marginalised people, who are already overlooked and underrepresented in the media, shy away from courts due to these hassles and long delays. The path to justice is riddled with hardship.

Noor e Emaan is a college student in Lahore.