Why our dramas love resilient women but not ‘free’ ones: Saba Qamar’s Case No. 9 | The Express Tribune

For years, I watched Pakistani dramas simply for entertainment — but Case No. 9 forced me to confront what silence truly costs us. The hit drama produced by Abdullah Kadwani and Asad Qureshi concluded on January 8 on a hopeful note, with protagonist Seher Moazaam (Saba Qamar) winning her sexual assault lawsuit against Kamran Haider (Faysal Quraishi). The final episode delivered long-awaited justice, as the perpetrator was sentenced, while also shedding light on the legal and societal obstacles rape survivors face in Pakistan.

Yet beyond its powerful ending, the drama offers something deeper.

What the drama ultimately reminds us is the immense resilience women in Pakistan must carry — even when they are educated, accomplished, and outspoken. Speaking the truth is rarely enough. Despite their ambition and resilience, women are still denied the freedom to exist without judgment or backlash. Praised by some and ridiculed by others, every act of courage comes with a price.

Seher is not introduced as fragile. She is the head of sales and marketing at a leading company. She’s an unapologetic divorcee, she is articulate, professionally ambitious, and socially active. She attends dinner, networks comfortably, and exists in mixed places with ease. Her independence is not portrayed as rebellion — it is simply who she is.

And that is precisely why her story feels so important.

When trauma strikes, Seher collapses, as any person would. But she also chooses to fight. She files a case and pursues justice against Kamran. What the drama carefully illustrates, however, is that for a woman like Seher, proving that a crime occurred is not the only battle — she must also prove that she deserves to be believed.

One of the drama’s most unsettling realities is that even Seher’s own parents initially discourage her from reporting the assault. For a modern, educated, financially independent woman, the first barrier to justice emerges within her own home. Their fear of scandal and reputational damage reflects a generational anxiety that still polices women’s choices in moments when they need support the most. The message is painfully clear: education and independence do not automatically translate into unquestioned autonomy.

She does not fit the stereotypical image of the “ideal” victim. She was not cloistered, naive, or visibly fearful of men. She was confident, social, and professionally successful. And so, the courtroom — much like society — begins to dissect her choices instead of the crime itself.

The interrogation feels familiar:

Why did she go to his house?
Why stay that long?
Why attend dinners with him before?
Why not tell more people she felt uncomfortable?
Why report it late?
Why destroy the evidence?
Why didn’t an educated woman know how rape reporting works?

Notice the pattern. The burden shifts from examining the violence to examining the victim. The more independent Seher seems, the more credibility she begins to lose. The show does not frame this as her failure — instead, it exposes how deeply ingrained these patterns of doubt are.

Importantly, Case No. 9 does not undermine Seher’s strength. It does not punish her for being modern or ambitious. Rather, the drama portrays the exhausting reality that women like Seher face: even resilience is scrutinised. Even freedom becomes suspicious.

There is a cost of being brave — not because bravery is flawed, but because society is still learning how to process women who occupy space unapologetically.

In the end, Case No. 9 gives its protagonist justice but it also does something more meaningful. It acknowledges that for women who are educated and socially available, the fight is often twofold: surviving the crime and surviving the scrutiny.

Perhaps that is the drama’s quiet triumph. It celebrates resilience and also highlights why freedom for women in Pakistan still comes with conditions. And in doing so, it does not criticize society from a distance; it invites us to reflect on how we respond when a woman refuses to shrink herself to be believed.

If Case No. 9 leaves us with anything, it is this: justice is powerful, but empathy is transformative. And maybe that is where real change begins.