I attended a UN training on the prevention of sexual exploitation, abuse and harassment, expecting to hear about the behaviours we already recognise: sexual advances, coercion, inappropriate messages and abuse of authority.
Somewhere during the discussion, an uncomfortable thought emerged. Perhaps one of our challenges in Pakistan is not that women do not know harassment exists. It is that we have normalised certain behaviours and forms of familiarity, including subtle boundary violations, to the point that it can become difficult to recognise when conduct has crossed a professional line or may develop into harassment.
In Pakistani workplaces, universities and professional circles, some of the most uncomfortable boundaries are crossed not by strangers but by men who are trusted, admired and regarded as so-called ‘mentors’. And often, neither the room nor even the young woman concerned immediately recognises what is happening.
Picture a familiar scene: a senior man takes a young woman under his wing. He calls her beta/bachay. He praises her intelligence. He tells everyone she is ‘like a daughter’. He cracks loud jokes when she enters the room. The language itself is irrelevant; what matters is what is being said. A joke about marriage. A comment about how she looks today. A teasing reference to a boyfriend. Perhaps an affectionate pat on the head follows. A hand on the shoulder. Standing unnecessarily close. An arm stretched behind her chair while sitting in a seminar or meeting. He messages her after working hours, initially about work and gradually about life.
Everyone laughs. Quite often, she laughs too. That is where the conversation becomes difficult. We have been trained to recognise ‘harassment’ when it looks dramatic: an explicit proposition, an obscene message, a threatening gesture, a woman visibly recoiling or saying no. But power does not always produce fear. Sometimes it produces fascination and infatuation.
Attention from a senior, admired or influential man may initially feel flattering, protective, even professionally rewarding. That is precisely why softer boundary violations can be harder to recognise especially when they arrive disguised as humour, mentorship, affection or special attention.
For a young woman entering professional life, attention from an accomplished senior colleague can feel validating. He remembers her name. He listens to her ideas, even her family issues. He introduces her to important people. He says she has potential. Why would she immediately see danger in that?
In Pakistan, the ambiguity becomes even greater because our social culture is warm, hierarchical and deeply relational. Older men call younger women beti. Teachers become parental figures. Senior officers become ‘uncle’ or ‘bhai’. Humour in a desi language can be loud, expressive and wonderfully irreverent. None of this is inherently harassment. In a society where women are frequently told to remain invisible, modest and deferential, the attention of an influential ‘mentor’ can feel empowering rather than threatening.
The problem begins when culture becomes permission. ‘I was only lightening the mood’. ‘She doesn’t mind. If she did, she would have said something.’ None of these sentences answers the real question: Was the behaviour professionally appropriate?
There is another complication we rarely discuss: women may initially feel flattered, encouraged or reassured by the attention. A young professional will feel special because a senior male colleague jokes with her, calls her into his office more often, stands noticeably close to her in official photographs, or treats her with the same easy informality he reserves for male colleagues. In many Pakistani workplaces, that can feel like the highest form of professional acceptance: a sign that she has been admitted into an inner circle from which women are often excluded.
Acknowledging this is not meant to blame women. It exposes how power works. A mentor’s power over recommendations, promotions, grades, contracts or opportunities makes the relationship fundamentally unequal.
Preventing sexual harassment cannot simply be reduced to teaching women to complain or report. We also need to teach men to recognise boundaries before a complaint becomes necessary. A good mentor does not need sexualised humour to appear approachable. He does not need physical familiarity to demonstrate regard. He does not comment on a woman’s body, relationships, choices or attractiveness to make the workplace ‘fun’ and ‘relaxed’. And he does not assume that silence, nervous laughter or admiration means consent.
Mentorship is not ownership. And affection does not erase hierarchy. Pakistani culture makes these distinctions particularly complicated. We are physically expressive within families. Elders place hands on heads. Relatives call unrelated younger people ‘beta’ or ‘beti’. Senior men are frequently addressed as ‘sir’, ‘uncle’ or even treated as father figures. Hospitality, warmth and informality are virtues.
But the workplace is not the drawing room. A gesture that may be harmless between relatives carries a different meaning when one person controls another person’s promotion, recommendation, contract, grades, posting or professional access.
Men also need a more sophisticated conversation. Not every misplaced hand or awkward joke is evidence of predatory intent. But good intentions are not a substitute for professional boundaries. ‘I treat her like my daughter’ cannot become a universal exemption from accountability.
In Pakistan, we often excuse such behaviour as culture, humour, seniority or harmless affection. We need to become better at asking a simpler question: would this still look appropriate if everyone in the room could see it, hear it and question it?
If the answer is no, the boundary has probably already been crossed.
For many women, especially early in their careers, the attention of a senior colleague can feel affirming in ways that are deeply human: it can make us feel seen, capable, valued and finally recognised. That is precisely why those with greater power carry a heavier responsibility.
The culture we should be working towards is one in which women can receive encouragement without wondering what is being asked in return, and men can offer support without confusing trust with access.
Perhaps the test is simpler than we think: can this joke, gesture, message or conversation comfortably withstand the light of the room?
Good mentorship should make people feel supported, not indebted; respected, not uncertain. That, to me, is what prevention should ultimately achieve: workplaces where support comes without hidden expectations, professional boundaries are clear, and women can grow without having to compromise their comfort or sense of self.
The writer is a development practitioner working on sustainable development,gender, energy and emerging technology issues. She can be reached at: sarahsiddiq68@gmail.com
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