The Architecture of Control: Gender and Everyday Life
Reda is 23 years old.
When she speaks about honor killing, she does not begin with statistics or headlines. She begins with the rules that quietly govern everyday life.
“Honor killing,” Reda explains, “is when a family harms one of its own because they believe that person damaged the family’s reputation.” In most cases she has seen or heard of, it begins with love — a girl choosing someone for herself, or wanting to marry against her family’s wishes. That choice alone is often enough to be considered disrespect. The punishment, she says, is justified in the name of honor.
Growing up in Pakistan, Reda learned early that patriarchy is not always loud or violent at first. Often, it shows itself through control. Men are given decision-making power in families, and that power can quietly turn into surveillance over women’s lives. A brother believes it is his duty to protect the family image, and that protection often means controlling his sister’s choices — where she goes, who she speaks to, what she wants.
Tradition places women in a fragile position. They are seen as carriers of family dignity, while men move more freely. If a girl is seen talking to a boy, her actions are judged far more harshly than a boy’s would ever be. Reda explains that this pressure does not exist only inside the home. It comes from neighbors, relatives, and the wider community.
People ask questions — How could he let this happen in his house?
These questions place pressure on men to prove they are in control. That pressure, Reda believes, often leads to violence. Control becomes a way to perform masculinity in front of society.
In many cases, families do not involve authorities. Reporting violence to the police is seen as bringing shame rather than seeking justice. Instead, families try to resolve matters privately. When laws are weakly enforced, or when families are allowed to forgive the offender, cases often end without punishment. Violence disappears into silence.
What disturbs Reda deeply is how often honor-based violence is treated as a “personal family matter.” Even when people witness abuse, they choose not to intervene. “If something wrong is happening right in front of you,” she says, “and you stay silent, then you are also responsible.”
Reda believes media plays an important role in breaking that silence. Awareness campaigns, discussions, and social media platforms help challenge the idea that honor justifies harm. Without visibility, many victims remain unseen.
Inside homes, patriarchy is reinforced through everyday routines. Men are prioritized. Meals are served to them first. Girls are expected to ask permission to leave the house — even for simple things like meeting friends. Reda explains that girls are not allowed the same freedom to move casually through public space the way men are. Education exists, but it is conditional. A girl may be allowed to study — as long as it does not lead to independence that challenges male authority. Many girls are asked to stay home instead of attending college. Cultural expectations position men as heads of households, granting them influence over every major decision. Reda has also noticed changes. Younger generations are beginning to challenge these patterns. Some brothers now support their sisters’ education. Some families encourage shared responsibilities. These shifts, she says, give her cautious hope. Still, change is uneven. Patriarchy remains deeply embedded in daily life, shaping how women move, speak, and imagine their futures. For Reda, gender control is not only about extreme violence like honor killing. It is about living a life where permission is always required — where freedom must be negotiated, justified, and often denied.
And yet, she believes that speaking about it matters. Because silence is the system’s strongest protection.