KARACHI: Aurat March returned to Karachi’s Sea View on Sunday despite state restrictions and political backlash. Participants turned the Mother’s Day gathering into a protest against marital rape, domestic violence, gender-based violence, and patriarchal expectations that continue to shape women’s lives both inside and outside the home, insisting that their right to march “will not stop.”
Held on Mother’s Day under the theme “Good Girls,” this year’s march focused on generational trauma, motherhood, domestic labour, and the patriarchal expectations imposed on women from childhood. Placards, speeches, chants, and performances transformed the beachside gathering into both a protest and a deeply personal reflection on the roles women are expected to perform in Pakistani society.
The event came days after the Karachi district administration issued a 28-condition no-objection certificate (NOC) for the gathering, banning “objectionable clothing,” anti-state slogans, LGBTQ content, and speeches deemed against the “ideology of Pakistan.” Organisers condemned the conditions as an attempt to “control and dilute the politics of the march.” Earlier in the week, organiser Sheema Kermani and several activists were briefly detained outside the Karachi Press Club while protesting restrictions surrounding the event.
Despite this, by Sunday evening chants of “Insaan hai aurat” and “Meri nahi toh kiski marzi” echoed across Sea View as hundreds gathered under banners questioning the societal obsession with creating “achi betiyaan” (good daughters).
Speaking to participants throughout the event, a recurring theme was that Aurat March has moved beyond social media controversy and become a space where previously taboo issues are now openly discussed. One participant said the march had forced conversations around topics ignored in mainstream discourse. “When we talk about the discussion of ‘good girls’ and the relationship of this title with motherhood, it’s in our patriarchal houses where we see this concept,” they said. “If a girl refuses to stay in those conditions, then suddenly she is no longer considered a ‘good girl’.”
Several participants also said the march had evolved over the years through increasing youth participation, arguing that younger voices had helped push conversations beyond online debate into public spaces. “With growing time, we have seen young people joining us, and the importance of youth in politics is very important because we are the future,” one participant said. “Regarding this march, the media has always played a role in giving a narrative on the event because we make demands from the state and society, but people rarely highlight the actual speeches or discussions happening here.”
The participant added that motherhood itself remains heavily romanticised and imposed upon women. “Patriarchy has romanticised motherhood — that if you are a woman, you must become a mother. But what if a woman doesn’t want to give birth? What if she doesn’t want motherhood? That should also be an individual choice.”
Others highlighted violence against women as an issue still insufficiently addressed despite years of activism. One male participant said he attended because “there is no difference between women and men when it comes to basic humanity.” He added, “More than 7,500 women have been killed in the past four years, including around 1,500 honour killings. If we talk about harassment, workplace abuse, domestic violence — these numbers are everywhere, but society still normalises them.”
Another attendee said his participation was influenced by witnessing the struggles of his sisters. “I personally believe that I have four sisters and I know the sorrow they go through every day,” he said. “Women face backlash constantly for simply existing. Speaking up for women is basic empathy.”
“The march will continue.”
The slogan became the defining refrain of the evening after organiser Sheema addressed the crowd from the main stage. “At first we thought: should we not do the march?” she said. “Then we thought — why not? It is our right.”
Referring to criticism and restrictions placed on the gathering, she declared the movement would continue regardless of pressure. “For eight years of struggle, where we have reached today, we will keep going forward,” she said. “We will not stop. Just like our slogan says: the march will continue.”
Sheema repeatedly described the gathering not as an organisation-led campaign but as a grassroots movement born from everyday struggles. “We are not an NGO. We are not a registered organisation,” she said. “We are an organic movement. Some women got together and said we are tired of the struggles we face daily — what happens to me, my sister, my loved one, women in my neighbourhood. We do not accept this.”
She also responded to claims of foreign funding and accusations often made against the march. “Standing here in front of the sea, I am telling you these are lies,” she said. “We get no outside funding. We simply came together because women have had enough.”
Her speech also addressed recent police action against organisers. “My first demand from this state and government is to give women safety and security,” she said. “We were legally going to the press club for a conference, and we demand a public apology.”
Beyond speeches, the march’s visual symbolism reflected themes of invisible labour and domestic violence. One participant held a placard reading “Apna khana khud banao” (cook your own food), referencing cases where women have been assaulted or killed over domestic expectations.
“People make fun of this slogan, but it’s not funny,” the participant said. “A simple search shows countless stories of women being killed because food was late, cold, or not prepared on time.” They described domestic labour as one of the most overlooked forms of gendered exploitation in Pakistan, saying women are expected to perform unpaid labour continuously and can face violence if they fail to meet expectations.
Another emotional speech came from the sister-in-law of Shanti, a woman who was married young, raped, and later died due to violence inflicted by her husband. “If this is happening with Shanti, it will continue happening to all mothers,” she told the crowd. “We teach our daughters that after marriage, they cannot say no, that they must keep the household together even if it destroys them.”
For many attendees, the event also represented resistance against fear. Several acknowledged that religious, political, and social backlash has influenced public participation in Aurat March, but said criticism had strengthened rather than weakened their resolve.
“The fear has always existed,” one attendee said. “But if we want to stand for something, we have to leave our comfort zone. We are not crossing religious boundaries. Marching and demanding rights is constitutional.”
Participants also discussed repeated misinterpretation of slogans such as “Mera jism, meri marzi.” “As a gender minority, I’ve always been told what to do with my body,” one attendee said. “If it’s my body, then it should be my choice.” They linked the slogan to recent allegations of mishandling during police interaction with activists.
Others argued that social media had distorted public perception of the movement by reducing complex issues into viral controversy. “The media often ignores the actual speeches and demands,” one participant said. “People only focus on controversy.”
By sunset, the atmosphere at Sea View remained energetic as participants sang, shared personal stories, and raised slogans by the sea, reclaiming both public space and political voice.
For organisers and attendees, this year’s Aurat March represented not only protest but a refusal to remain silent in an increasingly hostile environment for dissent.
As chants continued into the evening, the central message remained unchanged: the march, despite all obstacles, would continue.