Crime Control Department Encounters: Justice or Death?

By Saleem Mubarak

It is nighttime. A car stops. The door opens. And a man is pulled out.
That’s it.

What happened after that was never proven in any court of law. No case was tried. No lawyer spoke. No judge presided. No witness gave testimony.

The next day, only an official press release was issued.
And in that press release it was written: “The suspect fired first. The police retaliated in self-defense. The deceased was involved in serious crimes.”

The story ended there. But the question still remains.

Rise of Crime and Collapse of Prosecution in Punjab

Punjab.

Pakistan’s largest province—both in terms of population and, perhaps, in terms of tragedies.

Crime was nothing new here. Kidnapping for ransom, murder, robbery, gang rape, acid attacks, car snatching—these had been happening for years. But the problem was that whenever a suspect was arrested, taken to court, and tried, they were often released.

Why?
Because the prosecution system of the Punjab Police—the system meant to secure convictions—had become hollow from within. Evidence was weak. Witnesses retracted their statements. Forensic evidence was not accepted. Circumstantial evidence was said not to hold in court.

The result was that even those accused of serious crimes walked free—and often committed the same crimes again.
The public was exhausted. The government appeared helpless.

And then, in 2024, a decision was made.

Formation of the Crime Control Department (CCD)

A bill was presented in the Punjab Assembly. It was debated. It was passed. The governor signed it. Article 18-B of the Police Order 2002 was repealed and replaced with Article 18-C.

In April that year, the law was enacted—and by mid-May, a new institution began operating.

Its name: Crime Control Department — CCD.

Nearly four thousand police personnel, spread across Punjab. A station in every city—except Lahore, which has three. These stations are headed by officers of SP and DSP rank.

What was the purpose of the CCD?
To investigate only serious crimes and bring them to their logical conclusion.

Kidnapping for ransom, gang rape, murder during robbery, harassment of children and women, car snatching, acid attacks—all fell within CCD’s jurisdiction.

The department was so powerful that even if a suspect was already detained at another police station, or in police custody on physical remand, the CCD could still take them into its own custody.

CCD chief Sohail Zafar Chattha told the BBC that they are part of the police and operate in the same way. Any case can be transferred to them by the head of the Punjab Police. Cases registered by local police can also be handed over to the CCD for investigation.

Punjab Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz credited CCD’s performance, stating that since it became functional, crime rates across Punjab—particularly serious crimes—had declined dramatically.
Sohail Zafar Chattha claimed a 70% reduction in serious crimes and a 35% decrease in murder cases.

It sounded very good.
And then—the numbers began to emerge.

Punjab Police Encounters 2024: The Numbers That Sparked Controversy

Within just eight months.

Pakistan’s Human Rights Commission (HRCP), based on reports published in local media, compiled the following figures:
670 police encounters. 924 suspects killed. And during this entire period—only two police officers were killed.

That means, on average, more than two deadly encounters every day. And in each encounter—the suspect died.

Just think about it… If these were truly two-sided gun battles, if bullets were genuinely fired from both sides—could it be possible that 924 people died and only two police officers lost their lives?

In any war, in any conflict—both sides suffer losses.
But here? 924 versus 2.

This was the moment when HRCP formed a fact-finding mission. And what they saw—they documented in their report.

The first finding: the story of each encounter was almost identical. Whether in CCD press releases or police reports—the narrative was nearly the same: “The suspect fired first. The police acted in self-defense. The deceased was involved in serious crimes.”

670 different encounters, 670 different incidents, across different districts—yet each time, almost the same story.
HRCP wrote that this was not the result of independent actions but a structured narrative. Not an individual irregularity—but an institutional policy.

The second finding: the procedures required by law were nowhere to be seen.

The 2022 law against torture and custodial deaths requires that the Federal Investigation Agency, under the supervision of the National Commission for Human Rights, investigate every custodial death.

Under sections 174 to 176 of the Criminal Procedure Code, a magistrate’s inquiry is mandatory.
The United Nations’ basic principles—signed by Pakistan—which state that lethal force may only be used when strictly necessary and proportionate, were also absent.

The fact-finding mission found no evidence of compliance with these requirements.

And the third finding—perhaps the most disturbing: the victims’ families were gripped by fear.

One family reported that after their relative was killed, police officers came to their home and said:
“Bury him immediately. And if you pursue legal action—remember the rest of your family.”

In other words—not only killing, but threats to enforce silence.
HRCP described these threats as criminal acts and serious obstacles to justice.

Legal, Moral and Political Debate Over Extrajudicial Killings

Then came the names that repeatedly surfaced in this debate.

In Gujranwala, a man accused of triple murder was taken into custody from a moving train—later killed in an encounter.
In Lahore, Taifi Butt—real name Khawaja Tareef Gulshan—the main suspect in the Ameer Balaj murder case, was killed in an encounter during an alleged escape attempt.

In Raiwind, a fruit seller accused of killing two brothers over a dispute of 30 rupees—also killed in an encounter.

Different criminal histories. Different backgrounds. Different cities.
But the same ending—an encounter.

Now we come to the most important question. And this question is not just legal—it is moral.

Criminal lawyer Asad Jamal told the BBC in clear terms that the Punjab Police’s prosecution system has become so weak that even those accused of serious crimes are being released by courts—contributing to rising crime rates.

He suggested that those in power may have created CCD with this very objective in mind—a parallel system to do what courts could not. But in this parallel system, there is only one punishment: death.

That is—those whom courts cannot convict are taken by CCD, and then an “encounter” occurs.

Asad Jamal also noted that despite these incidents, there has been no public protest. Why? Because a mindset is spreading in society—that trust in the justice system has collapsed. People want immediate punishment for the accused. They do not want to wait for courts.

And it is in this vacuum that institutions like CCD emerge.

But what former Punjab Police chief Shaukat Javed said is equally important.

He stated that the law does not permit extrajudicial killings. Courts do not permit them. Society does not permit such crimes. And when the state itself becomes involved in such acts, it moves beyond the bounds of both law and morality.

He gave the example of the 1993 Karachi operation. At that time, police encounters were also used to control crime. Initially, they succeeded. But once the operation ended, crime surged again—and the police officers involved were systematically targeted and killed.

According to Shaukat Javed, such success is temporary and superficial. It does not produce long-term results; the damage is greater. Similar experiments in the Philippines and South America also failed.

Is CCD Reform or a Dangerous Shortcut?

What is the real solution?

He argued that the entire criminal justice system must be overhauled. Defects in evidence laws must be addressed. Forensic and circumstantial evidence must be accepted in courts. Only then will criminals be punished.

In this situation, what is CCD’s response?

CCD chief Sohail Zafar Chattha told the BBC that HRCP’s report is not based on facts.
He said the department was established in accordance with the Police Order 2002, the Criminal Procedure Code, the Pakistan Penal Code, and the law of evidence. They operate within the constitution and are accountable to the government, judiciary, and society.

He stated that there is zero tolerance for illegal actions. Officers who take bribes or abuse authority have been prosecuted and arrested. He also said that petitions filed in the Lahore High Court regarding extrajudicial killings have already been disposed of by the court.

And at this point, we arrive at a place where two narratives stand face to face.

On one side—the government and CCD claim: crime has decreased, the system is lawful, accountability exists.
On the other—the HRCP report, lawyers’ statements, and the silent eyes of affected families who cannot speak out of fear.

HRCP has demanded immediate high-level judicial investigations, a ban on police encounters across Punjab, investigations into all encounter deaths by the FIA, the establishment of an independent civilian police oversight commission, and compensation for the families of the deceased.

But finally, there is one point that weighs the heaviest.

The trend of police encounters in Punjab is not new. In April 1998, during the tenure of then Chief Minister and current Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, five youths were killed in an encounter in Lahore’s Sabzazar area. Later, a case was registered against 12 individuals including Shehbaz Sharif. In 2008, the court acquitted them.

That means—this cycle is decades old.
And each time, the same story repeats itself: crime rises, the system weakens, a shortcut is adopted, temporary relief comes—and then things return to where they were.

Because the root problem is never solved.

The real issue is that Pakistan’s evidence law is weak. Forensic evidence is not accepted in courts. Prosecution fails. And as a result, criminals go free. Until this is reformed—the cycle will continue.

Asad Jamal’s words are worth reflecting on:“Punishing or acquitting the accused is the job of the courts—not the police.”

And when any institution—whatever its name—forgets this distinction…then what difference remains between the state and a thug?

That question is for you. And you must find its answer yourself.

Author Profile

Saleem Mubarak

Saleem Mubarak is an investigative journalist, passionate writer, and keen observer of everyday life. His work combines humor, realism, and social insight to bring everyday stories to life with depth and clarity.

With a distinctive storytelling style, he brings ordinary moments to life through sharp wit and thoughtful commentary.

His writing often explores cultural trends, civic issues, and human behavior, engaging readers with both intellect and emotion.

Whether tackling serious topics or adding a touch of satire, Saleem’s words reflect his deep understanding of society and his commitment to meaningful expression.

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