The Invisible Curfew: Safety, Silence, and the Struggles of Women

In cities across the world, the ability to move freely after dusk is a privilege many take for granted. For countless women in Pakistan, this simple act is fraught with fear and complexity. As the sun sets, an altered reality emerges—even the most routine travel, such as heading home from work or university, becomes a challenge.

With rapid urbanization, glaring challenges surface for women, particularly regarding their safety and agency while navigating city spaces. Statistics reveal that around 40% of women in Pakistan avoid travelling after sunset. Interviews with young women commuting regularly in Islamabad and Rawalpindi highlight a profound interplay of structural and societal barriers that limit their mobility and undermine their sense of autonomy and security.

Among the most cited concerns is the presence of darkness, which acts as a powerful amplifier of fear. For Amna, who travels daily from her workplace in Blue Area to Rawalpindi, the absence of adequate lighting causes perpetual anxiety. She shared:

“At certain places, there are no proper lights, particularly in Rawalpindi. The darkness makes you feel scared, even if you’re just walking back home.”

This sentiment is widely shared. Other respondents noted that poor lighting heightens their vulnerability. Maria, a recent graduate, explained that she avoids narrow, dimly lit streets—even when they offer a quicker way home:

“There’s a shorter route to my house, but I avoid it because it’s not open or well-lit. I don’t find it safe, so I opt for the longer route, which is busier and has streetlights. After Maghrib, even familiar routes feel risky.”

What’s more, this fear is not imagined—it reflects the very real dangers posed by inadequate infrastructure. Nevertheless, environmental factors like poor lighting are not the only triggers. Equally troubling are the behaviors women face while navigating public spaces.

Adding to this anxiety is the persistent issue of harassment, often manifesting through unwanted stares, unsolicited comments, and stalking. Maham, who regularly commutes in the evening via public transport, ride-hailing services, or on foot, described how these experiences erode her confidence and sense of security:

“When I’m stared at, I feel bad about myself. Even if nothing happens, it lingers in my mind. I even question my clothing choices, even though I know that’s not the issue. I feel irritated. Why do men stare for no reason?”

In addition to harassment, the limitations of safe transport options further compound the problem. While public transport is perceived as a safer option, it is not always accessible or reliable. Rabia pointed out the gaps that remain even within seemingly secure systems:

“Metro is a secure travel option, but you’re on your own once you’re off it. The paths outside the stations are often dark and deserted, or sometimes overly crowded by bikers, making them risky.”

Consequently, many women must rely on alternative options that are often far less secure. Amima, for instance, shared her unease about using ride-hailing services in less connected areas:

“I live in a suburban area of Islamabad where Metro isn’t available. I have to use InDrive when my father can’t pick me up. Drivers sometimes take alternate, unfamiliar routes due to traffic or roadblocks. With poor internet in Islamabad these days, I can’t check maps or share my live location. The driver could easily kidnap me or worse, and no one would know.”

In some cases, however, structured systems can offer a relative sense of security. Hira, who works night shifts at a multinational company, relies on her employer’s transport, which is backed by safety protocols:

“Our company provides door-to-door transport with strong surveillance systems. Drivers are strictly vetted, and their details are shared in advance. It makes a huge difference. However, I wouldn’t call this freedom—even with all these safety measures. Without structured systems, I’d be in the same vulnerable position as any other woman.”

Beyond infrastructure and safety measures, a deeper issue remains: the gendered expectations that shape how women navigate public spaces. Fareeha recalled her upbringing and the limits imposed on her mobility:

“During my teens, I wasn’t allowed to go out alone. Now it’s less strict, and I travel alone—but the fear remains. A boy can go out comfortably at night, but there’s always fear for us. It’s not freedom; it feels like something is missing.”

Similarly, Amima emphasized the burden of societal judgment that women must constantly negotiate:

“In Pakistan, it’s generally not considered appropriate for women to travel alone at night. Women constantly negotiate between safety and societal judgment.”

These reflections underscore how deeply ingrained norms continue to restrict women’s freedom, even in their most basic activities. The fear is not merely logistical—it is cultural, psychological, and deeply personal.

To address these challenges, young women consistently emphasized the need for both infrastructural improvements and cultural transformation. They called for better-lit streets, women-only buses like the Pink Bus, expanded Metro routes, strict laws against harassment, and reliable transport alternatives. These practical steps, they argued, would significantly reduce the risks associated with commuting after dark.

Yet, true freedom requires more than policy reforms. As one respondent poignantly said:

“True independence for me would mean walking alone at night without any fears. Something I feel isn’t possible yet in Pakistan.”

In a country where women constitute over half the population, addressing these challenges is not merely a matter of fairness—it is essential for national progress. By creating safer urban environments and challenging societal norms, Pakistan can ensure that no woman is followed by the Shadow of Fear as she navigates her own city.