Everything is a risk in Pakistan: If you defend women, it's a

Asma Jahangir, the fearless daughter of Lahore, raised her voice against the silence of fear when she declared: “Everything is a risk in Pakistan: If you defend women, it's a risk. If you defend non-Muslims it's a risk. If you discuss religion, it's a risk. But you can't really sit there like a vegetable in your own society. And I'm committed to that society... and I feel I need to turn around and speak as I should.” In these words beats the heart of one who chose courage over comfort, defiance over despair. She names the truth: in a land where justice is fragile, every word for the oppressed is dangerous. And yet, she chose to speak as she should, because to remain silent is to become lifeless, like a rootless tree or a motionless stone.

The ancients taught that the soul of a people is revealed by those who dare to defend the weakest among them. To stand for women, for non-Muslims, for those silenced by fear, is to place oneself in the line of fire. Jahangir did not veil the cost—she knew that each act of defense was a risk of exile, imprisonment, or even death. Yet her voice thundered still, for she saw that silence was the greater peril: to live as a vegetable, unmoving, unthinking, while injustice poisons the soil of one’s homeland. To her, true loyalty was not blind obedience, but the will to wrestle with the flaws of one’s society and call it toward justice.

History has known such spirits before. Consider Socrates in Athens, who risked his life by questioning the city’s corruption, and drank the hemlock rather than betray truth. Think of Martin Luther King Jr., who declared that silence in the face of injustice is itself betrayal, and who gave his life to break the chains of racial hatred. Like Jahangir, they knew that to speak was risk, but to remain silent was spiritual death. Their legacies endure, for while tyrants fall into dust, the voices of the courageous echo through centuries.

Jahangir’s words also teach that commitment to society is not shallow loyalty. Many boast of loving their nation while ignoring its wounds. She saw deeper: to be truly committed to one’s land is to heal its injustices, even when it means confronting powerful enemies. She did not abandon Pakistan, though she could have fled. She stayed, fought in the courts, marched in the streets, and lifted her voice for those who had none. Her love was fierce, not blind—a love willing to risk itself for the soul of the nation.

The wisdom here is this: in every society, there will come a time when justice demands risk. The coward may say, “It is dangerous to speak; let me remain quiet.” But the noble spirit knows that safety bought with silence is no true safety, only a slow decay. To act with courage may lead to danger, but to live without courage is to die while still breathing. Jahangir’s refusal to be a vegetable is the call to all of us: better to burn brightly for truth than to wither in fear.

The lesson is clear: do not wait for perfect safety before you defend what is right. Speak when injustice rises, even if your voice trembles. Stand with those who are silenced, even if the crowd mocks you. Risk is the cost of truth, and truth is the seed of freedom. The ancients knew it, Jahangir knew it, and we too must learn it. Silence is a betrayal; action, though perilous, is the path of life.

Practical actions follow. Begin by raising your voice in small ways: defend the one mocked in your workplace, stand for the one silenced in your school, write against the cruelty you see. Teach your children that courage is greater than comfort. Remember the names of those who risked all for justice, and let their stories kindle fire in your heart. And when the time comes for you to risk much, choose to stand tall, for though your body may fall, your voice will endure.

O seeker, carry Asma Jahangir’s wisdom: everything is a risk, but life itself is risk. To love truth is to be vulnerable, to love justice is to be endangered. Yet to live without these is not to live at all. Choose courage, choose commitment, and choose to speak as you should—for in doing so, you honor not only your society, but the dignity of the human spirit itself.