Much has been said about the new Ordinance which amends provisions on rape in the Pakistan Penal Code. This conversation, often sparked from time to time, was most recently started again following the gangrape of a Pakistani-origin French woman on the Lahore-Sialkot Motorway. There were calls for the rapists to be publicly hanged, maimed and slaughtered.

After much silence, the prime minister finally spoke up. He declared that an Anti-Rape Ordinance was underway and would include chemical castration and other severe punishments for sexual violence offences.

Earlier this week, a draft ordinance confirming the prime minister’s statement was made available to the public. There were some positives. The draft law recognises that vaginal penetration is not the sole manifestation of rape. Explanations to the draft provisions expressly recognise that failure to physically resist an act of rape does not translate into consent. Clearly, the revised Section 375 of the draft ordinance updates the legislative visualisation of consent and the manifestations of rape.

The draft law also introduced stricter punishments. The prescribed imprisonment for an act of rape has been increased to the remainder of the perpetrator’s natural life as opposed to the earlier limit of twenty-five years.

But, then there were also glaring errors. The minimum age for consent was lowered from what was earlier sixteen years to thirteen years. Although, it was later reported that the minimum age of consent was to be raised back to sixteen and the change was simply a clerical error. It seems, and rightfully, that this was the only official position that could be justified.

Chemical castration was introduced as a punishment for repeat offenders. This is defined as a process whereby a person would be rendered incapable of performing sexual intercourse through the administration of drugs notified by a medical board. Many applauded this new addition to the penal code, considering it an effective means for eliminating acts of sexual violence against women.

But then there were also the glaring errors. The minimum age for consent was reduced from what was earlier sixteen years to thirteen years.

But then there were also the glaring errors. The minimum age for consent was reduced from what was earlier sixteen years to thirteen years.

There is much to be said about chemical castration. India was faced with a similar conundrum in 2013 right after the Delhi gang rape in 2012. Rapists must be castrated, chanted the public. But legislators did not jump onto the bandwagon. A commission was established to consider whether this was an effective deterrent against acts of rape. The Justice Verma Commission decided that it was not; castration could not uproot “the social foundations of rape”. The power dynamics and violence upon which rape operates cannot be eradicated overnight through violent punishment. The answer then clearly is not castration. Without any robust prosecution of rape offences, it seems that the punishment merely embellishes a fundamentally weak base.

Let’s now discuss what chemical castration means for a country which has a three percent rape conviction rate. It is no secret that rape trials are delayed, victims are forced to settle not only by perpetrators but by their own relatives and the prosecution itself uses archaic means of evidence collection to invade their privacy. There is also an inherent lack of police efficacy. The motorway gang rape proved that habitual offenders were seldom caught let alone tried and charged. Now, the law stipulates chemical castration for the same kind of offenders; that is of course, if they get caught.

In view of this, it is important to recall the real reforms we need. First, we need an overhaul of the criminal justice system itself. Instead of increasing and redefining penalties through a series of enactments, we need to tighten the process for prosecution itself. This would include adequately trained female investigation officers, the state to continue with a criminal complaint against alleged rapists even if victims withdraw it and protection of the victims’ privacy in evidence collection, to name a few. In essence, there need to be fewer laws but more enforcement. Any other route would result in another discarded attempt to appease public fear of sexual violence.

Lastly, let us revise the way we see protection of women in the criminal justice and legislative spheres. Paced out reforms, inadequate legal definitions, and protections enacted after the commission of heinous offences – these are the issues that plague legal reforms for women in Pakistan.

The 2020 Ordinance is not the result of the state seeing women’s protection as an urgent matter. Rather, it acts more as a response to the backlash Pakistan faced after rape cases in the country rose. The desire to act as an afterthought is becoming increasingly dangerous. Legislators are acting on populism, not on the need to reduce sexual violence. Incidents of sexual violence may give rise to new laws, but there may be very little that will actually be done to protect women from violent sexual offences. Afterthoughts may result in strong laws on paper, but in practicality serve the same purpose as applying lipstick on a terminally ill patient.

The writer is a lawyer. She tweets at @noorejazch