Laiba Ijaz, a bright young woman who made it.
She made it despite all odds and the misogynistic cards women in Pakistan are dealt with. She was a bright and shining star who emerged as a physics gold medallist from the International Islamic University Islamabad. She had dreams of pursuing higher education abroad. Her family believed in those dreams too. Her father reportedly sold property and the family put together millions of rupees so she could pursue that dream.
But her dreams were cut short by the brutal realities.
The wake-up call that threw even a bright young woman like Laiba into such a dark place that the only thing that made sense to her was ending her life.
She was robbed.
She was robbed of her dreams. Of her potential. Of the future she had worked so hard to build. And of the millions of rupees that her family had sacrificed to give her a chance at a foreign education.
According to the Federal Investigation Agency (FIA) investigation, Laiba was allegedly scammed of Rs 9.3 million through a scheme involving fake admission, scholarship and visa documents. The alleged scammer reportedly presented himself as someone with connections and the ability to arrange her admission and visa, and fake documents were produced to make the scheme look legitimate. Laiba discovered that she had been deceived, and the consequences were devastating.
Despite being wronged and scammed, she apparently reached a point where she believed there was no way out for her.
Imagine how hopeless one has to be about the justice system to be convinced that you will never get justice in your lifetime.
That, to me, is the most disturbing part of this story.
The alleged scammer, on the other hand, was able to operate within a system where he could claim connections and authority, allegedly use fake identities and documents, and convince a highly educated young woman that his promises were legitimate.
He has now been arrested and the investigation is underway. But for Laiba and her family, it is too late.
That family has lost its everything.
And there is another sickening layer to this story: the reported role that ChatGPT played in the scam.
According to police sources cited in Pakistani media, the suspect allegedly used ChatGPT to help impersonate people and respond to Laiba’s inquiries, making the scam and the identities behind it appear more credible. The investigation is still ongoing, so the precise role of ChatGPT has yet to be established in court.
But even the allegation should worry us.
Because AI is going to make scams like these easier. It can produce convincing answers, emails, documents, and identities in seconds. For someone already desperate to believe that an opportunity is real, the difference between a legitimate consultant and a sophisticated scammer is becoming increasingly difficult to detect.
And in Pakistan, that problem is made worse by something much older than AI: the lack of trust in institutions.
Pakistan’s challenges are multifold.
Other than having to brace for the modern threats—such as climate change, AI and digitalisation—most Pakistanis continue to be deprived of very basic needs and have to deal with problems like violence, political turmoil, state oppression and, perhaps most basic of all, lack of justice.
Pakistan inherited many of its administrative and legal institutions from the British colonial system. After almost eight decades of independence, Pakistan’s political and ruling classes have had more than enough time to reform these institutions.
Instead, the old hierarchies have evolved into new ones.
Its elites, its feudal families and its political dynasties often seem to live by a different set of rules than the masses. The rich and powerful can use money, influence and connections to navigate the system, while ordinary people can spend years waiting for their turn at justice.
There is a two-tiered system of justice: one for those who can afford it and one for those who cannot.
And it has only gotten worse.
Pakistan’s problems — poverty, terrorism, political turmoil, economic insecurity and lack of justice — have made millions of Pakistanis want to leave and immigrate to other countries. There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to leave in search of a better life. But when an entire generation starts believing that its future lies somewhere else, it creates a lucrative business model for human smugglers, visa consultants, immigration agents and, as Laiba’s case tragically shows, scammers.
AI tools are going to make this worse.
All the while, Pakistani politicians and the ruling class continue to make promises of change.
But the fundamental problem remains: a hopeless youth, and a population that increasingly has little confidence that institutions will protect them when they are wronged.
And if you cannot provide justice — if ordinary people do not have the confidence that they will get justice when someone wrongs them — then you don’t have the basis for building a country.
You cannot build a functioning society on hopelessness.
You cannot ask young people to believe in their country when they see corruption, inequality and impunity around them and believe that the only way to build a future is to leave.
Laiba’s story is therefore not just about one scammer or one tragic death.
It is about what happens when people lose faith in the institutions that are supposed to protect them.
Pakistan’s judiciary needs drastic reforms — not only towards greater independence, but towards ensuring speedy, effective and accessible justice. People need to believe that the law will protect them regardless of who they are up against.
Without that confidence, you cannot even begin to build a country.
Let alone make it a great country.
As the saying goes: no justice, no peace.
In Pakistan’s case, that is not just a slogan.
It is a reality.