By Ansar M Bhatti
A tragic incident in Islamabad a few days ago has once again exposed the fragility of the rule of law in Pakistan and the alarming state of road safety enforcement in the federal capital. Two young women — hardworking employees at the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA) lost their lives in a horrific crash on Constitution Avenue after a speeding V8 vehicle rammed into them with unimaginable force. They were returning home after a long day at work, unaware that their lives would be cut short due to someone else’s recklessness.
According to police reports, the driver, a 16-year-old boy with no driving licence, was allegedly filming Snapchat content moments before the crash. Witness accounts and CCTV footage suggest the vehicle was speeding far beyond permissible limits in an area designated as the “Red Zone” supposedly one of the most secure and strictly monitored zones in the entire country. Yet, the reckless movement of a high-powered vehicle went unchecked until it caused irreversible loss.
The teenage driver has reportedly been taken into custody. However, as often happens in such cases, public skepticism is widespread. There are growing concerns among citizens and on social media that the matter may eventually be swept under the carpet because the suspect allegedly belongs to an influential family. As reports suggest he happens to be the son a sitting Islamabad High Court judge.
What makes this incident even more disturbing is its location: Constitution Avenue, right in the heart of Islamabad’s Red Zone. This area houses the Parliament, Supreme Court, PM Office, and multiple foreign embassies. It is supposed to be one of the most secure stretches of road in Pakistan, monitored by police, cameras, and checkpoints.
If such reckless driving can go unnoticed in an area considered the most protected in the country, then what does it say about the rest of Pakistan?
Over the years, authorities have made grand promises of “strict enforcement,” “modern policing,” “road safety reforms,” and “zero tolerance.” Yet, on the ground, the situation tells a different story. Oversight is weak, enforcement selective, and accountability reserved for those without connections.
The police department, unfortunately, has long been considered one of the most politically manipulated and corruption-ridden institutions in the country. A senior police officer, speaking to this newspaper a few weeks ago, admitted off the record that when a case lands at a police station, the first question quietly asked is: “Which area does the suspect belong to?”
If the answer is “F-6, F-7, F-8, or any upscale neighborhood,” officers often become cautious, evasive, or slow. They expect that “someone important” will intervene, and they prefer not to antagonize powerful circles. This mindset has created a two-tier justice system: one for the privileged and another for ordinary citizens.
And this tragic incident is likely to follow the same trajectory. Public distrust is so deep that even when an arrest is made, people assume the case will eventually be diluted, compromised, or forgotten.
Every government that comes to power claims Pakistan is progressing “by leaps and bounds,” with reforms underway, systems being modernized, and institutions strengthened. But the lived reality of Pakistanis reflects the opposite.
Law enforcement remains toothless unless ordered otherwise. Agencies responsible for public safety operate without coordination. Policies are crafted for public relations, not implementation. And tragedies like this one are treated as news cycles — not catalysts for change.
A state that cannot protect citizens on its most secure road is a state that has lost its grip.
Nations collapse not only due to economic failure or political instability but when the public loses faith in justice. Pakistan today is dangerously close to this point.
People die daily in similar avoidable accidents. Pedestrians, motorcyclists, and ordinary commuters are run over by speeding vehicles driven by unlicensed individuals, often minors, and too often linked with influence or wealth. Families of victims are left helpless, emotionally devastated, and financially burdened while powerful suspects walk free after “settlements,” weak investigations, or manipulated prosecutions.
Corruption is the real cancer eating away at Pakistan’s institutional structure. Yet, despite decades of rhetoric, no government has enacted serious reforms or constitutional amendments to uproot it. Why? Because the beneficiaries of the system remain the same generation after generation.
This tragic accident should have been a wake-up call. It should have triggered accountability, reforms, and soul-searching. Instead, Pakistan risks watching the case fade into silence, like countless others. A society that cannot deliver justice for its dead — especially its hardworking, innocent young women stands on the brink of moral collapse.
Pakistan today waits for a leader who can cleanse this system, enforce the law without fear or favor, and restore dignity to the lives of ordinary citizens.
Until then, all we can do is hope — hope that God will one day have mercy on this nation and bless it with a leader bold enough to confront the chaos, powerful enough to dismantle the rot, and honest enough to protect the people who look to the state for justice. And hope that tragedies like the one witnessed on Constitution Avenue never happen again.
