Special report: Sexual harassment in workplaces in Pakistan
Misogyny in the workplace: Hidden in plain sight
By Razeshta Sethna, Tooba Masood and Ramsha Jahangir
Sexual harassment, abuse and discrimination in Pakistan’s workplaces, including universities, are pervasive, mostly unreported and ignored by senior managers, a Dawn survey of 300 women found.
In response to being asked whether women were made to stay silent about workplace harassment, 61 per cent said their employers did not coerce them to keep quiet, but a significant 35pc were told to remain silent by their colleagues and bosses.
The survey conducted through online questionnaires and interviews in Karachi, Islamabad, Lahore, Peshawar and Quetta collated responses from women in the workforce, across professions and industries, to gauge experiences of sexual harassment and whether workplaces have anti-sexual harassment policies in place.
Nonetheless, when it comes to formal reporting mechanisms, testimonies from women suggest most lack faith in the process — only 17pc of those who experienced harassment approached their organisation’s internal inquiry committees.
Despite 59pc reporting that their managements do take harassment seriously, most women expressed worry that managers wouldn’t sanction harassers and their work situations would not improve. Most women felt they would not be believed during investigations or when perpetrators had support in high places.
A surgeon’s proposition
Women in medicine shared stories of a toxic culture of misogyny. Some as students endured catcalling, comments about their body size (“they would rate us on a scale of one to ten,” said one) and gossip about their reputation.
Some doctors said promotions were denied on the pretext that they were ‘less experienced’, not ‘as committed’ as male colleagues or because they didn’t succumb to sexual demands. Those who call out workplace misconduct are routinely portrayed as hysterical and malicious liars or whiners.
One former medical student of a university hospital said her professor, a well-known orthopaedic surgeon, often paid her unwanted attention. Once, he propositioned her while she was operating on a patient under his supervision. “He stood so close to me, shoulder-to-shoulder in the operating room. He told me I’d have to come back to him if I cut my finger while operating. No one knows when you wear [surgical] masks what a doctor is whispering to you,” she said.
“Female students would invariably get higher marks than male students. He had power over students he favoured. We knew his behaviour was problematic, so did our seniors, but by complaining we’d be jeopardising our careers. We were given warnings about some professors and male students we should steer clear of. It was a very uncomfortable environment. I hated it.”
Hostile work environments
Bad behaviour doesn’t have to be sexual to constitute harassment. In fact, everyday aggressions by male bosses often create humiliating work conditions for female subordinates.
Women in technology speak of how managers denigrate their worth and work; improper touching and comments, bullying; and bosses taking credit for their achievements.
Schoolteachers talk of promotions promised in return for sexual favours. One said she was publicly mocked for using the bathroom ‘too often’.
Politicians said they are routinely criticised for their appearance — they must not look too feminine since that’s not associated with leadership, nor too masculine since that’s not their lot. Being perceived as usurping power in a man’s world makes them fair game, they said. Even legislative assemblies in which pro-women laws are sanctified are not safe from everyday sexism.
Sexism in parliament
In January 2017, PML-F’s Nusrat Sehar Abbasi was well into her second tenure in the Sindh assembly and accustomed to the frequent jeering and heckling by certain male legislators from the ruling party.
Nonetheless, she decided enough was enough when PPP’s Imdad Pitafi invited her to come to his chamber for a ‘satisfactory response’ to a question she had asked, which prompted laughter from other members of the ruling party. She even threatened to immolate herself if he did not resign.
“I didn’t get what he said at first because of the poor acoustics, not until other women told me. I wasn’t given the chance to respond because PPP’s deputy speaker Shehla Raza switched off my mike; she didn’t stand in my defence. I was fed up with the constant whistling and bad language used by male legislators,” Abbasi tells Dawn.
“They believe women on reserved seats [are not elected] on our own merit. They don’t realise we do most of the work and pass the most bills, while they heckle us.” Pitafi eventually apologised on the floor of the house, after Bilawal and Aseefa Bhutto-Zardari urged him to do so.
This was not an isolated incident. Many women lawmakers suffer inappropriate banter intended to publicly demean them. In June 2016, then defence minister Khawaja Asif called PTI’s Shireen Mazari a ‘tractor trolley’; in April 2017, PPP’s Khurshid Shah remarked that women would ‘fall ill’ if prevented from ‘chattering’; in Nov 2014, JUI-F’s Fazlur Rehman claimed PTI’s female supporters were of ‘bad character’. Failing to condemn this behaviour, women lawmakers mostly support their parties for fear of censure by male leaders.
Enabling misconduct
When women protect harassers they are actually ‘enabling’ these men and their misconduct, explains Nighat Dad of the Digital Rights Foundation.
“Society is wired in such ways because of the stakes involved; even if you might know of their behaviour you will stay silent. Networks empower people and people don’t want to lose their communities. Often harassers are weaker but enablers allow them to become strong so they stay within communities and are not isolated. You won’t see these powerful enablers around complainants often so they become weak and isolated.”
Silence and secrecy enforce perpetrators. If a woman cannot be completely silenced, they make sure she is disbelieved or shamed, say lawyers dealing with harassment cases. The more powerful the perpetrator, the more he is able to discredit the victim through his network of supporters.
In the line of duty
Senior police officer Maria Taimur admits women in the force won’t talk about harassment as much as they should.
“At a higher level we don’t face intimidation as much, but lower entry-level constables and ASIs do. Women in the force can go to their DPOs or CPOs to complain, and have learnt to give men shut up calls. But often the matter is also hushed up. We have anti-harassment drives in most districts, we try to change mindsets, but it’s a slow process,” she said.
Taimur raised another issue: “You can’t spot a harasser because often their demeanour is so respectful in public. This makes it easier for them to cover their tracks.”
Having worked with male colleagues for over 12 years, Uzma, an ASI at Lahore’s Lower Mall police station is well versed in their psyche.
“Tharak jhaartay hain aadat se majboor,” — they flirt out of habit — she said. Although women in the force can hold their own, she admits certain men try to cast them as being of ill repute.
“What rubbish. Women work because they need to.”
Still, women facing harassment are often caught between two bad choices.
Put up or get out
Of the women surveyed, more than half said they would leave their jobs if harassed. For 12pc, reactions of workplaces and families would determine whether they stayed. But many recognise that ignoring harassment or leaving the workplace altogether will only exacerbate the problem.
“If it’s not one woman, then it’s another, which is why predators need to be held accountable,” said one interviewee.
One of the Punjab ombudsperson’s first cases was a complaint from a junior clerk in the agriculture department in 2014, recollected Bushra Khaliq of Women in Struggle for Empowerment. The only woman in her office, for six months, her colleagues maligned her reputation, told dirty jokes in her presence and blew cigarette smoke in her face. “When the department failed to take her seriously, her family went to the police. Eleven people were nominated in the complaint, and each was given different levels of punishment.”
But such an outcome is still an anomaly. In interviews, women explained how disciplinary action against harassers is virtually non-existent in a society where powerful men are immune from censure: “They usually get a slap on the wrist at most.”
A law unto themselves
One lawyer talked of misbehaviour in her profession: “My [former] boss, an influential former Senator and lawyer-politiian, made unwanted sexual advances, told me that at the civil courts women lawyers are sold for Rs500, and that he had slept with many ‘pretty women parliamentarians’. Once he tried to hug me, and when I told him specifically that this was not okay, he said his last employee was a tomboy and never hesitated to hug him. I left that law chamber.”
Recalling her early days, another lawyer wrote of a senior colleague, a son of a high court judge, who would send her dozens of inappropriate, late-night text messages.
“I never replied and would greet him the next day at work, pretending they had never happened. … The firm had no anti-harassment policy or procedure … I was made to believe that this was a rite of passage and that the messages would stop. … After I quit, I received another text from him calling me a slut.”
Obstacles in enforcing workplace rights
“Sexual harassment is a question of power and authority over women. The Protection Against Harassment of Women at the Workplace Act is aimed essentially at behaviour correction, it doesn’t involve courts or the police directly,” states Khaliq. With its enactment and the amendment to Pakistan Penal Code Section 509, both in 2010, the real challenge is implementation.
Legal experts argue that though sexual harassment in public spaces is now punishable with imprisonment and/or a fine, it has not served its purpose given the criminal justice system’s shortfalls.
Meanwhile, although the civil law requires organisations to adopt a code of conduct and constitute internal inquiry committees, organisations often fail to implement it.
“They don’t say they won’t comply, but some public organisations don’t. It was a nightmare to get PTV to nominate a committee. Banks, on the other hand, are more compliant because it is part of the State Bank’s audit,” explains Maliha Hassain of Mehergah.
Under this law, if a complainant is not satisfied with the internal committee, they can approach their respective ombudsperson for cases of workplace harassment. But, eight years on, the only provincial ombudsperson’s post that is presently filled is Sindh’s — Punjab has had no ombudsperson since April 2017. And while compliance with rulings is almost universal according to former federal ombudsperson for harassment, retired justice Yasmin Abbasey, she admits that the high courts have sometimes issued stay orders to stop proceedings despite lacking the jurisdiction to do so.
“Granted, it is risky for women to talk because of lack of supportive mechanisms. But they are more aware and understand they don’t need to tolerate this. The #MeToo conversations are trickling down to the grass roots,” Khaliq says. And what of the effects of these conversations? Of her own profession, Abbasi believes that speaking up will help to ensure that “the path for younger women to enter politics is not as difficult”.
Uzma Al-Karim, former special adviser to the Sindh ombudsperson, believes only a mindset change will make workplaces safer for women. But, until then, “We have to enforce the law so that there is zero tolerance for all forms of harassment in a work environment.”
Sanam Zeb, Asma Mojiz, Xari Jalil, Sarah Eleazar, Waseem Ahmed Shah, and Sadia Qasim Shah contributed to reporting.
*Illustrations by Marium Ali
If you are facing sexual harassment at work and would like to file a complaint, please follow the government's guidelines here and here. You can also reach out to NGO helplines. If you wish to share your story at Dawn, write to us at blog@dawn.com
Breaking the silence on sexism in academia
By Razeshta Sethna, Sara Eleazar, Waseem Ahmed Shah and Tooba Masood
For too long, sexism and sexual harassment in Pakistan’s universities have been considered routine experiences, tolerated by those in authority. Believing that the consequences of taking action are more damaging than staying silent, most women continue to put up with harassment and misconduct.
This was the choice Navin G Haider confronted two years ago as assistant professor of history at Karachi University’s (KU) Pakistan Study Centre. She decided to formally report on the harassment she experienced on campus, not knowing what the consequences would be (the first harassment incident she reported was in February 2016, and then, another incident she suffered on 14 March of the same year.)
Calling out harassment and discrimination became a noose around Navin Haider's neck.
Haider decided to file a complaint to the university’s internal inquiry committee after Dr Jaffer Ahmed — then acting centre director, and her immediate boss — failed to take action against her alleged offender, a visiting faculty member teaching Urdu, Dr Sahar Ansari (Ahmed, who has known Ansari for decades, told Haider’s friend, an academic from a private university, that he was ‘neutral’ to both parties.)
In her complaint, Haider alleged Ansari twice harassed her in the form of unwanted and inappropriate physical contact. Although she took a route rarely pursued by victims for fear of backlash, Haider says she was unprepared for what followed.
With 27 years of teaching experience, she was now labelled a troublemaker — even a nuisance by KU’s top management. Calling out harassment and discrimination became a noose around her neck. Yet, as she soon discovered, she was not the only woman who had been harassed by Ansari.
Haider says Ansari must have been around while she was a student at KU in the 1980s, but she rarely crossed his path until he began teaching Urdu at the centre in 2002. There, too, they hardly interacted.
“My limited interaction with Dr Ansari can be traced to December 2015 when he came into my room, sat on a chair next to me to look at student theses he could possibly use for an Urdu magazine for which he had just been appointed editor,” she says.
In an interview with Dawn, Ansari claims, “Through the years we were friendly as colleagues could be. She told me she would get me work on a translation project at the Ismaili community centre in 2000. [In other words] there were ample chances for me take any liberties [with her] if I wanted to. But at this age [reportedly mid-70s] and with my background I would not.”
Haider says she was unaware of what she stated was Ansari’s apparent predilection for fair-skinned women until she filed her complaint and other alumni and students begun to speak of their experiences with him.
She learnt that he took their numbers on the pretext of contacting them about academic work, and instead called them incessantly at night — asking them out to lunch, commenting on their physical appearance and marriage eligibility.
Some claimed he had groped them. A male staffer corroborated this.
“A computer operator at the centre told me he had witnessed how Ansari swept his hand right from the top of a woman’s shoulders to her buttocks. He was also one of the many witnesses who recorded his statement during the official inquiry,” Haider tells Dawn.
“In fact, Dr Ahmed’s wife and the centre’s current director had also warned her female students — I teach the same students in my history classes — to keep their distance from Dr Ansari. Something these girls told much later. Boys in his class knew he’d grade girls’ exams higher if they flirted with him,” she explains.
Haider’s ground level office — a tiny room packed with books and papers — is at the end of a drab, quiet corridor. It was here around noon one day in February 2016 that Ansari, without knocking, walked in while she was at her desk, engrossed in work. He strode right up to her, grabbed her hands in a tight handshake, and would not let go.
“It is friendship day, he told me. Besides, I like you beyond work, he said to me,” Haider says.
Ansari explains he was being friendly, not inappropriate, by shaking hands.
As the second inquiry committee ruling (a copy of which is available with Dawn) in January 2018 noted, Ansari denied that standing too close to a woman, hugging or touching her hands would make her feel uneasy and be inappropriate. He asserts he was made a scapegoat by Haider, who was displeased with Ahmed’s way of handling the centre’s affairs.
The ‘troublemaker’ complains
Even though her boundaries had been violated, Haider knew it was pointless complaining to the director.
“I was angry and vulnerable at this point for reasons concerning my work and promotions as well. I knew he was a friend of the acting director and that meant I should stay quiet. I would be called a liar if I spoke out. What evidence did I have? Also, being concerned about the manner in which contract faculty was hired and their tenure extended, I had written a letter to the university’s board of governors outlining corrupt practices in 2014, so I was perceived as a troublemaker internally,” she says.
Instead, she avoided him. She kept her office door locked, she recalls, and would avoid the library where Ansari would tutor mostly female students after class.
On March 14, 2016 Haider went to Ahmed’s office to discuss something when she spotted Ansari leaving the same office. She moved aside to make way for him, she said, but instead of walking past her to the door, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against the director’s personal assistant’s table (the assistant was out for lunch at the time). Holding on to her shoulders, he said, “Aap hichkicha kiu rahi ahin?” (“Why are you hesitant?”)
Horrified, Haider’s reaction was to yell, “What are you doing? Are you mad? Do you have no shame?”
Humiliated and stressed, she reported the incident to Ahmed that very afternoon, after which she submitted a written complaint to the university’s vice chancellor.
When Haider’s complaint was investigated by an internal inquiry committee (a committee member, for instance, was Ansari’s former student Dr Seemi Tahir) it absolved him of all charges in May 2016.
Despite testimonies furnished by alumni and students about Ansari’s misconduct, in its judgment (a copy of which is available with Dawn) it recommended that “[Haider] should be asked to improve her temperament”.
“They concluded I was insane,” she says.
It further stated that she “unnecessarily provoked the students towards agitation and boycott to settle her personal problem”.
In June 2016, she filed an appeal against this decision with the office of retired justice Shahnawaz Tariq, the provincial ombudsperson for the protection against harassment of women, explaining the inquiry committee had disregarded witness testimonies (16 people reporting harassment by Ansari had come forward), and failed to record statements and cross-examine both parties — all of which are legally binding.
Noting these discrepancies, the ombudsperson wrote to KU in August 2017 asking that a second committee “of independent, impartial and honest” officers submit a report in 30 days.
Noting that “any unpermitted and unconsented touch of the body of a female by any male is amounting to cause harassment”, the ombudsperson’s decision stated: “Neither the Inquiry Committee had made transparency nor ensured the impartiality while conducting the inquiry proceedings as well as passing its decision.”
In January 2018, a second committee headed by Dr Nasreen Aslam Shah ruled that Ansari behaved inappropriately with Haider. Its findings noted all witness statements about Ansari’s reputation for the type of attention he paid his female students.
The report (a copy is available with Dawn) stated no one regardless of their age, profession or fame has the right to harass another person on campus or otherwise. Also, incidents such as these will deter women from studying at KU unless strict action is taken against harassers, it elaborated.
Denying he had touched Haider outside the director’s office, Ansari claims: “She wanted to create a law and order situation in [the director’s] centre. If I had held her shoulders, why did she not push me away? Isn’t that unnatural — she didn’t yell? … She is bold, an activist … She is stout and healthy, and I am a semi-handicapped person.”
During an interview with Dawn, Ansari was asked twice if he had expected Haider to push him back. He responded in the affirmative both times — only if he attempted to touch her shoulders, he added suddenly, asserting he had not touched her.
Defining harassment in Punjab
Based on data collected from 260 students from 12 departments, a 2017 study in the Research Journal of South Asian Studies highlights the pervasiveness of harassment at Punjab University, including one incident that received much media attention.
“Two years ago, the termination of the services of a professor … who reportedly kept a bedroom next to his office on university premises, was initially applauded. However, recently, despite the university’s resistance, he has returned to the university due to political pressure.”
Clarifying the above, Dr Zakaria Zakar told Dawn the accused professor had not returned, but the court had restored his pension benefits as he had retired during the same time.
Before being appointed interim VC this year, Zakar headed the committee for investigating harassment complaints.
According to him, students’ complaints about verbal harassment on campus, such as catcalling, do not fall under the purview of the Protection Against Harassment of Women at the Workplace Act, 2010, as the law primarily provides cover to employees.
His interpretation of the law — including the definition of workplace sexual harassment and whom it should apply to — is antithetical to the views expressed by competent authorities such as the federal ombudsperson, who ruled: “The fact remains that work means physical and mental effort or activity directed to the production or accomplishment of something that one is doing, making or performing especially as an occupation or undertaking a duty or a task therefore, the act equally applies to employer, employee and students.”
Across the country, many within academia have reported that the most common harassment they face is ogling, sexual and vulgar comments, and unwanted touching. All felt angry and degraded though many are shamed and blamed; many researchers and teachers leave their jobs, while students are forced to endure continued harassment if they want to finish their degrees. Many more try to ignore the harassment and avoid the harasser.
In April 2017, over 50 students (mostly female) signed a petition against four students at the Government College Lahore claiming verbal harassment at a bus stop.
After several months of initial hearings, an inquiry committee comprising only men was established, which goes against the law: one woman on a minimum three-member committee is mandatory.
According to sources privy to the hearings, the questions posed to students ranged from irrelevant to downright absurd, while the committee only appeared sympathetic after one of the complainants burst into tears. The questions included: “You have stated that you were walking to the bus and plugging in your hands-free device when one of the boys cat-called you. Why were you using a hands-free device?” and “How do you know [the harassers’] names? You found out from Facebook? Why are you on Facebook?”
Fighting against a powerful harasser
Even though the law is clear that sexual harassment is discrimination, a violation of rights and therefore illegal, perpetrators do not face the full force of the law. The appointment of Saqlain Naqvi as VC of Bacha Khan University (BKU) in Charsadda is under review in the Peshawar High Court (PHC) for these very reasons.
In a December 2016 judgment by the federal ombudsperson, Naqvi was censured for sexual harassment while dean of the faculty of sciences at Arid Agriculture University in Rawalpindi.
A researcher complained that his behaviour was the reason for the 10-month delay in her PhD thesis examination, because of which she had not been awarded her degree.
Although she attended only one course with Naqvi, his extraordinary attention towards her made her extremely uneasy. He made it untenable for her to stay, and so she quit the university.
Denying the allegations, BKU’s management told the PHC that the Rawalpindi bench of the Lahore High Court set the ombudsperson’s decision aside on April 18, 2017. However, the petitioner’s counsel told Dawn that the LHC had set aside the ombudsperson’s order on technical grounds and referred the issue to the Punjab provincial ombudsperson, as Arid University was not in the federal ombudsperson’s jurisdiction. It had not referred to the merits of the case.
With no ombudsperson appointed in Punjab, the case remains in limbo.
In interviews, professors and students have told Dawn they are either dissuaded from making officials complaints, withdraw their allegations or ignore serial offenders fearing the impact on their education and careers.
Students harassed by male professors who have authority over them, including the power to manipulate grades, are often intimidated by the consequences of reporting.