For the past few months, I have been finding myself unable to open Instagram. It seems like there's a headline about a woman being brutally violated every other day. My social media feeds are a perpetual stream of anger and outrage. I am drained — how many more women can I mourn? How can I live with the knowledge that any of these women could’ve been me, my family or my friends?

As I navigate my complicated emotions regarding womanhood and patriarchal violence, I begin to realize the importance of creating an intimate, safe space with other women who have experienced the same. Often, I’d reach out to my friends and we’d begin to unpack the years worth of trauma we have accumulated, and its lasting effects on our minds.

At NYU Abu Dhabi, I see the potential of transforming the idea of small, guarded spaces with friends into a larger platform that will allow all women from Pakistan to have a safe space for dialogue. The platform must be created for women from Pakistan and other brown women, as the trauma we’ve grown surrounded by is unbearable.

All women in Pakistan have always lived with the fear of violence hanging over their heads. The advent of social media in the country has uncovered what was known before but unspoken: Pakistan’s rampant cases of femicide, sexual violence and everything in between. The Global Gender Gap Report published by the World Economic Forum ranks Pakistan at 153rd out of 156 countries in the index, which measures gender disparities across four dimensions: economic participation and opportunity, educational attainment, health and survival and political empowerment. In the past year only, different accounts have proven that any woman in the country, is a potential victim: a woman inside an apartment with her partner, or a woman driving on the Lahore motorway with her children. Even the notion that women with more socioeconomic or cultural privilege are protected was proven to be a fallacy when a man barbarically ended the life of a former diplomat’s daughter.

Upon hearing of any incident of sexual violence, my most overwhelming emotion is loneliness: an inescapable fear that I have no one to protect me but myself. Logically, I’m aware that there are thousands of other women who are in the same situation as I am. There are countless posts on my social media of women speaking out against the violence that takes place. However, it seems that we are not only expected to suffer the trauma of sexual and gender based violence that we experience or hear of but we must also channel our energy into anger and educating others. Shouldn’t we be allowed to grieve, to process all that we’ve witnessed? We can only do so by fostering a strong sense of solidarity. No woman in the nation is alone in their anguish, and we must not let anyone feel so. We can only begin to heal from our pain if we realize the solution lies within us as a community — no external force can remedy our grief, or even offer a modicum of hope.

We can not turn to the government for help. Time and time again, the state has proved that it does not care about women. Prime Minister Imran Khan has repeatedly shown a disinterest in improving the lives of women in the country. He refuses to acknowledge any of the atrocities going on and, when pressed to speak on the matter, preferred to explain away sexual assault as caused by the way women dress. He retracted his statements following the huge backlash he received, but the women in the country understood his message: he would not be an ally in the fight against patriarchal violence. This is not surprising coming from a man who openly welcomed a man convicted for sexual violence into his political party a few years ago. Our Prime Minister epitomizes our state: a system that is not just apathetic towards the protection of women but is openly against it.

If the state does not protect us, neither will the men around us. Women in Pakistan are taught that any behavior that does not align with conventional gender expectations is enough to condemn their personhood and justify violence against them. Following any instance of violence against women, there is always a barrage of people tweeting about how the woman brought it upon herself — by choosing to dress a certain way, by befriending men, by travelling alone. These victim blaming narratives only add to the constant dread of being a woman in Pakistan. It is impossible to foster a safe space for healing when we are surrounded by rhetoric which regards women’s feelings as an afterthought. Our emotions are constantly policed, as we are not even permitted to vent our anger and frustration at the men in our country. It is infuriating that “Not All Men” trends on Twitter every time an incident of sexual abuse makes headlines. It is futile to hope for change. The future for women in Pakistan looks bleak — the violence has been worsening over the years, without any sign of improvement.

NYUAD has a large body of Pakistani students, and it is imperative that we create a platform for Pakistani women on campus to unpack our feelings about sexual and gender-based violence. Despite the distance between us and the place we call home, we are still deeply affected by events in our country. Not only are we caught in the throes of the trauma and violence we’ve witnessed our entire life but we also oscillate between relief and guilt: relief in knowing that we’ve managed to leave, guilt in knowing that most people are not lucky enough to walk away. I spent my last few weeks at home riddled with worry, mulling over the grim situation in which I was leaving my family and friends behind.

I yearn for a place where I can express my anxieties and find a community of people who are dealing with the same emotions. I know others feel the same. We must create a space where we can have these conversations, where we can explore the nuances of our experiences and heal. It is important to guard this safe space, to make it a space exclusively for women, cis and trans. We are entitled to create a space just for ourselves, for even those sympathetic to the cause will not be able to comprehend the gravity of our experiences.

NYUAD has a responsibility towards its female Pakistani students to help us create this platform. The university — along with its students — has a tendency to embrace diversity selectively. The institution has, for years, romanticized our traditions and customs through Mock Weddings and Basant celebrations. Our colorful, easily digestible traditions are promoted, while there is no acknowledgement of the more discomfiting aspects of our culture: the violence against women that is so deeply rooted in Pakistani society. Even Pakistani students are guilty of this behavior. The Pakistani Student Association — one of the most active Student Interest Groups on campus — did not organize any relevant programming following the harrowing accounts of the past few months. No words of comfort were offered.

Celebrating diversity is more complex than simply throwing an event where people sing and dance. In order to practice true intersectionality and cross-cultural understanding, there should be institutional effort toward creating spaces for people who have suffered as a consequence of their identity and background. NYUAD is equipped with the means to do so. Departments such as Spiritual Life and Intercultural Education have held vigils and created safe spaces for communities who were struck by tragedy and injustice. However, these spaces are formed as a reaction to grief. Programming of this nature should be a constant presence on campus for the tremors of our trauma are felt long after the original event has passed.

All Pakistani women have endured immeasurable grief in the past few months. The only way to deal with our pain is through solidarity — our only saviors are ourselves.