The death of Laiba Ijaz, a 22-year-old gold medalist from the International Islamic University Islamabad, is being discussed mostly as the story of one cheat and one stolen sum of money. The allegations against the man now in custody must be proved in a court and not on television, but it would still be a mistake to let the matter end with his name and his arrest, because a single fraudster could not have done this much harm if the ground under him had not already been so soft.
Consider first what kind of young woman she was. She had earned the highest honour her university could give, she had reportedly received a real scholarship offer from a university in Saudi Arabia, and she was therefore not someone without options. Yet she was drawn away from a modest and genuine opportunity toward a famous Western name, and that says something uncomfortable about the dream we have taught our children. We have made a foreign brand the only proof that a poor family’s sacrifice was worth it, and anyone who sells that brand, even a fake one, finds a ready market among parents who will sell land and pledge a mother’s jewellery for it.
Then there is the silence, which is the part of the story that should trouble us most. In her last message she asked her uncle not to tell her father about the fraud, because she believed he could not bear it. A girl who had done everything right felt that the safest thing was to carry the shock alone, and that tells us how heavy the expectations in a struggling household can become. When a father who sells milk from a motorcycle gives his savings to a child’s future, the child receives something more than money, a debt of love that is very hard to speak about when things go wrong. We talk a great deal about fraud and very little about why a clever, hardworking daughter could not say to the people who loved her that she had been cheated and needed help.
The response of the state also deserves a plain look. The prime minister took notice, the interior ministry gave orders, the FIA began an inquiry, and a Senate committee asked for officials to be summoned, and all of this is welcome, but all of it came after a young life was lost. Reports even suggested that for a time no case was registered because the grieving parents had not yet submitted a written application, which shows how a system built around paperwork can fail the very people it exists to protect. If the same energy had been spent earlier on simple things, the story might have ended differently.
None of those things are expensive. A fake letter carrying the name of a famous university can be checked with one email to that university, but a family in a rented flat does not know that, and nobody has taught them. The Higher Education Commission could publish a clear and easy guide for verifying offers and consultants, universities could set up advice desks for their own graduates who want to study abroad, and a helpline could exist where a worried student can ask a question before the money is paid and not after. Her own university gave her a gold medal, yet it seems nobody stood beside her at the next and most dangerous step.
We should also admit that Laiba’s case reached the public only because of her death. Many other families have been cheated by agents who promise visas, admissions and jobs, and most of them stay quiet out of shame, losing their savings without any headline. The real test of the officials now speaking so firmly will be how they treat those silent victims in the months ahead.
Our grief should not be satisfied by one arrest. It should lead to a country where talent does not have to be rescued by luck, where a cheated student is met with help and not with shame, and where a family’s trust is protected by systems and not by fear.
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