As recently as August 27, the Supreme Court once again condemned life in a death-row cell as unfair, “inhuman”, and a “violation of constitutional rights”. The cells for death-row prisoners measure just 9 by 12 feet; the toilet—an open one, no less—is shared by several inmates. In this stench and darkness, they live a life—if it can be called life—utterly alone. This is not a debate about their crimes or theories of punishment, nor does *Ghulam Shabbir vs. the State* delve into philosophical intricacies. The judgment states facts: stark and simple.

Disturbed, the reader shifts tabs. By chance or fate, if the tab is a news channel, the unease only deepens. A political leader is demanding better jail facilities; his party is vociferously championing the cause in parliament.

Let’s set aside political partisanship for a moment, as I present examples from a variety of leaders and parties to make a point—a point that greatly troubles the reader. He is not inclined to reduce debates to simplistic binaries like “us vs. them,” but regrettably, that is the situation before him.

Consider this: In 2023-2024, Imran Khan is in jail. In 2018-2019, Asif Zardari and Nawaz Sharif were incarcerated. Go further back, and you’ll find more political leaders behind bars. Yet, the demands remain consistent: beds, televisions, and air conditioners. These are the cases argued in courts and the demands voiced in parliament. The leader who once championed *roti, kapra, makan* is now reported to be enjoying *aloo keema* (his favourite) and chai on demand in *Bhutto ke Akhri 323 Din*.

Do not be surprised, for this is the language of the law. These leaders are classified as A and B class prisoners under the Pakistan Prison Rules, 1978, because they are accustomed to a “superior” lifestyle. It is this very superiority that merits 40 dedicated rules outlining their privileges.

While reading through these rules resembles perusing a household shopping list (one tawa, one soap bar, etc.), what’s even more absurd is that the rules seem inadequate and are often easily circumvented in practice. Take, for instance, rule 260, which prescribes specific quantities for food. Imagine the superintendent checking the *keema* brought for Bhutto Sahib against these neatly defined gram specifications. This is not an exercise in castigation, nor is it a pseudo-Marxist attempt to drag the leadership back into the abyss. It is merely an illustration of the double standards our reader perceives.

We’ve discussed the bickering on one end. Now, cap in hand, we bow before the A and B class prisoners. Joining them in this deference are the C class prisoners—all those “not classified as A or B”—for surely bowing is what they have learned in life and near death. Rule 258 states that C class prisoners shall serve as cooks for the other two classes.

Someone, after all, must perform the “menial” tasks that our superior prisoners have never done and likely never will (rule 266).

But just when you think the distinctions might end, you notice a distant, dark, rancid corner. It’s gloomy and foul-smelling. The “condemned” souls residing there lack the spirit to lift their heads and the light to see you. These are the death row prisoners, the subject of *Ghulam Shabbir*, and they are dealt with under Chapter 14 of the rules.

The rules say more about when, where, and how to execute these prisoners than about their treatment. In the few provisions concerning their treatment, they are never the focus. Their isolation from other prisoners is for the convenience of the watchman (rule 332). If they are allowed light, it is because the sentry needs to keep an eye on them (rule 334).

Two things to note: First, we are not engaging in moral debates here. The intent is merely to point out that if the philosophy behind these cruel colonial prison laws is to ensure that prisons serve as “places of dread” devoid of all “pleasurable recollections,” then this objective is being met—but only for one class.

Second, the inhumanity faced by C class and death row prisoners is stark and undeniable. The political elite, with all their grievances, should not be dragged down in fits of rage, but I can’t think of a more fitting time to discard colonisation and its remnants.

We and our laws remain comfortably entrenched in a culture of elitist servitude. To adapt an adage for our purposes: *Sain to sain, sain jail mein bhi sain.* All the rest (read: class C) are there to clean the *sain’s* clothes, mop the *sain’s* floor, and wash the *sain’s* filth—all while a “5M-80Cm in length, well twisted and fully stretched” rope is being prepared to tighten around their necks.

Ali Hassan
The writer is a law student at Lahore University of Management Sciences.