Hysteria

Deputy Superitendent of Police Aurangzeb Khan was returning home with his entire family. His only son was driving the SUV. He was quite hopeful for his future as he was good in his studies. As they approached home, he changed, all of a sudden he heard a Gunshot. As he came out from the house, he saw his only Son Shahzeb was bleeding aqnd was in terrible pain.His daughter was yelling "Somebody help, as she saw her father going unconscious after witnessing that his son has loat his life.

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Shahzeb Khan, the 20-year-old son of former Deputy Superintendent of Police Aurangzeb Khan, whas gunned down on Saba Avenue in Karachi’s upscale Defence Housing Authority (DHA) on the night of December 24, 2012. What began as a personal confrontation quickly escalated into a national tragedy—one that would expose the deep rot in Pakistan’s justice system and ignite a firestorm of public outrage.

That night, Shahzeb had just returned home from a wedding with his family. The evening should have ended in celebration. But as the family arrived, an employee of the accused verbally harassed Shahzeb’s sister. Outraged and protective, Shahzeb confronted the accused and demanded an apology for the inappropriate behavior.

The accused—Shahrukh Jatoi and Siraj Talpur—were sons of powerful feudal families, accustomed to impunity. They refused to apologize, showing no remorse. Shahzeb’s father, hoping to de-escalate the situation, intervened and tried to pacify both sides. For a moment, it seemed the matter had been resolved.

But the calm was deceptive.

Shortly after the confrontation, Shahzeb left his house in his car. As he drove down Saba Avenue, he was ambushed. The accused had followed him, and in a shocking act of violence, they opened fire, killing him in cold blood. The murder took place in public view, in one of Karachi’s most affluent neighborhoods—a place where people believed they were safe.

The brutality of the act—and the identity of the perpetrators—sparked nationwide outrage. Social media erupted. Protests were held across cities. Hashtags trended. The public demanded justice, and the pressure mounted on the authorities. Then-Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry took suo motu notice of the incident, a rare move that signaled the seriousness of the case.

In June 2013, an Anti-Terrorism Court (ATC) delivered its verdict. Shahrukh Jatoi and Siraj Talpur were sentenced to death, while Sajjad Talpur and Ghulam Murtaza Lashari received life imprisonment. Shahrukh was also handed an additional three-year sentence for illegal possession of a weapon. The court ordered each convict to pay a fine of Rs500,000.

But what happened next shocked the nation even more than the verdict itself.

As he walked out of the courtroom, Shahrukh Jatoi smiled. He posed for cameras, flashing victory signs as if he had just won a game. The image of his smug grin—unapologetic, defiant—became a symbol of elite impunity in Pakistan. Civil society erupted in condemnation. How could someone convicted of murder behave with such arrogance?

The answer, perhaps, lay in what followed.

Just a few months after the verdict, Shahzeb’s father granted a pardon to the accused. Though legal under Islamic law, the pardon was widely believed to have been given under duress. Rumors swirled of pressure, threats, and backdoor deals. The public’s faith in the justice system began to erode. The idea that justice could be bought—or coerced—was no longer just a suspicion. It was playing out in real time.

The convicts then approached the Sindh High Court (SHC) for a review of the verdict. In November 2017, the SHC accepted the criminal review petition, set aside the capital punishment, and ordered a retrial. The court also removed the terrorism charges from the case, a move that significantly weakened the prosecution’s position.

The defense had argued that the terrorism charges were inappropriate, especially since Shahrukh was allegedly a juvenile at the time of the crime. This claim had been contentious from the beginning. A medical report had initially placed his age between 17 and 18, but the ATC rejected it. A seven-member medical board later concluded that Shahrukh was no less than 19 years old at the time of the murder.

Despite this, the SHC sided with the defense and dropped the anti-terrorism provisions. In December 2017, the sessions court released all the accused on bail. Once again, the public was outraged. The release of the convicts reignited protests and calls for justice.

This time, civil society took matters into its own hands.

A group of prominent activists—including Jibran Nasir, Jamshed Raza Mahmood, Afiya Shehrbano Zia, Naeem Sadiq, Nazim Fida Hussain Haji, Zulfiqar Shah, Aquila Ismail, Fahim Zaman Khan, and Naziha Syed Ali—filed a criminal petition in the Supreme Court. Represented by renowned lawyer Faisal Siddiqui, they challenged the SHC’s decision to remove the terrorism charges and overturn the convictions.

The petition argued that the murder had created widespread fear and insecurity among the public. Though the petitioners did not personally know Shahzeb, they claimed the incident had terrorized them and others in the community. The murder, they said, was not just a personal tragedy—it was a public act of intimidation that warranted the application of anti-terror laws.

Their argument was simple but powerful: when the rich and powerful can kill with impunity, it sends a message to society that justice is for sale. That message, they argued, was itself a form of terrorism.

The Shahzeb Khan case became more than just a legal battle—it became a litmus test for Pakistan’s justice system. It exposed the deep inequalities that plague the country, where wealth and influence can bend the law, and where victims are often silenced by fear or force.

The image of Shahrukh Jatoi’s smile still lingers in the national memory. It is a reminder of how easily justice can be mocked, and how fragile the rule of law can be in the face of privilege.

But it is also a reminder of something else: the power of civil society. The courage of ordinary citizens who refused to stay silent. The resilience of a community that demanded accountability. And the enduring hope that, even in the darkest moments, justice can still be pursued—not just in courtrooms, but in the hearts and voices of those who believe in it.

INSPIRED BY TRUE LIFE EVENTS I personally have followed up this incident. We all felt sorry for Shahzeb and still remember his gruesome murder.