Türkiye: Where daughters walk free
In Ankara, Pakistani mother’s experience raises questions about upbringing, religion, public safety, and why societies that preach respect for women still restrict their lives
Shabana Ayaz
ANKARA, Türkiye (MNTV) — Every morning, my 16-year-old daughter leaves our home in Ankara, the Turkish capital, for school. She changes two buses before reaching her destination. In the afternoon, she makes the same journey back. Sometimes, she walks to a nearby grocery store in the evening.
As a mother, I do not spend those hours imagining every possible danger she might encounter. I know where she is going and when to expect her home. But I do not live with the constant anxiety that shapes the lives of so many parents like me in South Asia.
For someone who has lived in Pakistan and experienced South Asian society firsthand, this peace of mind is an extraordinary blessing.
What makes this experience particularly striking is that Türkiye is a Muslim-majority country, often perceived as socially conservative by Europeans and many so-called liberals.
Yet here, I have found a degree of freedom and everyday security for women that many families in Pakistan, another Muslim-majority country, struggle to imagine.
In Pakistan, protecting women’s honor is frequently invoked to justify restrictions on their movements.
A daughter traveling alone can become a source of constant parental anxiety. Families often consider a woman safest when she remains at home or travels under male supervision.
The contrast with India is equally revealing. Hindu traditions worship powerful female deities, including Durga, Lakshmi, and Saraswati.
Yet this religious reverence has not translated into equal dignity and security for women in everyday life. Sexual violence, harassment, and restrictions on women’s mobility remain serious problems.
The contradiction is troubling. A society can worship goddesses while failing to ensure that ordinary women can walk safely through its streets. Another can repeatedly invoke women’s honor while denying them the freedom to move independently.
And here is Türkiye, a Muslim-majority society where I have discovered that a daughter can enjoy considerable independence without her mother living in perpetual fear.
I have traveled alone by train from Ankara to Istanbul. I have walked through markets, used public transportation, and moved around unfamiliar neighborhoods without constantly looking over my shoulder.
What makes women feel safer in Türkiye? Is it the upbringing of Turkish children, the behavior of men, the functioning of public institutions, or a culture that accepts women as equal participants in public life?
Perhaps the answer lies in a combination of all these factors.
Freedom without constant fear
Growing up and living in South Asia, I became accustomed to the warnings that shape the lives of girls and women.
Do not go out alone. Come home before dark. Avoid deserted streets. Be careful about your clothes. Do not trust strangers. Call when you arrive. Call again when you leave.
These instructions are familiar to millions of mothers and daughters in Pakistan and India.
They usually come from love and concern. Parents want to protect their children.
Instead of asking why streets are unsafe, society begins asking why a girl needs to be on those streets at all.
A daughter’s movements become a family responsibility. Her independence becomes a potential source of anxiety. Her freedom is negotiated through the fears of others.
In Türkiye, I have experienced a different relationship between women and public spaces.
Women travel alone on buses, trains, and the metro. Young girls walk to schools and universities. Elderly women shop independently. Mothers push strollers through parks and shopping districts well into the evening.
Women wearing headscarves share public spaces with women dressed in Western clothes. Their different appearances do not diminish their right to be there.
What strikes me is not simply the visibility of women. It is how ordinary that visibility seems.
A woman sitting alone in a cafe does not necessarily attract attention. A young woman traveling on public transportation does not automatically invite questions about why she is unaccompanied.
This may appear insignificant to someone who has always enjoyed such freedom.
For a mother familiar with the restrictions imposed on women in parts of South Asia, it represents a profound change.
What makes Türkiye different?
I have often wondered whether the difference begins in Turkish homes.
Are boys raised to regard women as independent individuals rather than people who must remain under male supervision? Does growing up alongside girls in schools, neighborhoods, and public spaces influence their behavior?
I cannot claim to know how every Turkish family raises its children. Nor would it be fair to suggest that Turkish men are universally more respectful than men elsewhere.
Respect for women cannot be created merely through speeches about morality, religion, or family honor. It must become part of everyday conduct.
A boy must learn that a girl sitting beside him on a bus has the same right to be there. A man must understand that a woman walking alone is not inviting attention.
These principles may sound elementary. Yet their absence can determine whether millions of women experience public life with confidence or fear.
Role of public institutions
Culture alone cannot explain the difference.
The organization of Turkish cities also contributes to the sense of security I experience.
Ankara and Istanbul have extensive public transportation systems. Buses, metro services, and intercity trains allow women to travel without depending entirely on private vehicles or male relatives.
Neighborhood shops, cafes, parks, and shopping districts often remain active after sunset. Streets with regular pedestrian activity can feel more reassuring than deserted public spaces.
Municipal services, street lighting, security cameras, and a visible police presence also contribute to public confidence.
None of these measures guarantees safety. But a functioning transportation network and accessible public spaces make it easier for women to build independent lives.
In Pakistan and India, many women face additional difficulties because of unreliable transportation, poorly lit streets, harassment during commutes, and concerns about police responses.
For a family, these problems create a chain of restrictions.
A daughter may be discouraged from attending evening classes. A woman may reject a job because she cannot travel home safely. Parents may spend money they can barely afford on private transportation. When public infrastructure allows women to move with greater confidence, an entire society benefits.
What other South Asian mothers tell me
My experience is not unique.
Pakistani and Indian women living in Türkiye have shared similar observations with me.
One Pakistani mother told me she could allow her daughter to go out alone in the evening when necessary. She said such independence would have been extremely difficult for her to imagine while living in Pakistan. An Indian mother described how her daughter had become more confident after moving to Türkiye.
Instead of constantly seeking permission or arranging someone to accompany her, the girl had learned to navigate public transportation and manage everyday activities independently.
These conversations stayed with me. They showed that the greatest benefit of a safer public environment is not merely protection from crime. It is the confidence that comes from being trusted to move through the world.
A girl who travels independently learns to make decisions, solve problems, and take responsibility for herself.
A mother who feels comfortable allowing that independence is no longer forced to choose between her daughter’s freedom and her safety.
Pakistan presents a particularly painful contradiction.
Religion, morality, and family honor occupy a prominent place in public discourse. Respect for mothers and daughters is repeatedly emphasized in speeches, sermons, and family conversations.
Islamic teachings recognize women’s dignity, property rights, and entitlement to education. Yet social customs often place severe restrictions on their movements and choices. Women bear the burden of insecurity while the behavior of those who threaten them receives insufficient attention.
According to a 2024 report by Pakistan’s Sustainable Social Development Organization, 5,339 rape cases were reported, while the national conviction rate stood at just 0.5%.
Pakistan has enacted legislation, including the Anti-Rape Act of 2021, and established special courts. Yet weak investigations, prolonged trials, pressure on survivors, and low conviction rates continue to undermine confidence in the justice system.
A disturbing case emerged in Lahore in September 2026, when a 20-year-old Azerbaijani woman visiting Pakistan for business reported being drugged and gang-raped after accepting an invitation to an apartment.
Such incidents raise serious questions about the security of both Pakistani and foreign women.
The issue is not whether Pakistani families care about their daughters. Most care deeply.
The question is why protecting daughters so often means restricting them rather than creating conditions in which they can live independently.
India offers another striking contradiction.
Sexual violence can occur in homes, workplaces, educational institutions, and other familiar environments.
Public outrage following high-profile assaults often produces protests, promises of reform, and demands for harsher punishment. But the deeper social attitudes that restrict women’s independence remain difficult to change.
In my own experience, Türkiye has provided an unusually reassuring environment for independent movement. I have not felt that I must abandon my cultural identity or change my appearance to enjoy that freedom. The coexistence of religious traditions and modern public life is particularly significant.
Women wearing hijabs and women without headscarves study, work, travel, and socialize in the same public spaces. Their freedom should not depend on whether they conform to someone else’s idea of modernity or modesty.
This is an important lesson for societies that assume women’s emancipation requires abandoning religion, as well as those that invoke religion to justify restricting women.
Laws are necessary. Effective policing is essential. Public transportation must be reliable, streets must be properly lit, and survivors of violence must have access to justice.
But attitudes must change as well.
When my daughter leaves for school each morning, I sometimes think about mothers in Pakistan and India who must make difficult choices every day.
Should they allow their daughters to travel alone? Should they arrange private transportation they can barely afford? Should they discourage evening classes, employment opportunities, or social activities because the journey home feels unsafe?
Living in Türkiye has given me a glimpse of what that freedom can look like.
It has also taught me that women’s dignity cannot be measured by slogans, cultural claims, or the number of goddesses a society worships.
That is the freedom I have discovered in Türkiye. And it is the freedom I wish for every daughter, everywhere.
Shabana Ayaz is a Pakistani journalist currently based in Ankara.
We must take charge of our narrative. Research indicates that 92% of their Muslim coverage is negative. Help us change that.
Have Your Say!
Have you been affected by the issues raised in this story? Please share your experiences by emailing haveyoursay@soundvision.com.
Please include a contact number if you are willing to speak to a Muslim Network TV’s representative. You can also get in touch in the following ways:
Tweet: @MuslimNetworkTV
