Time has hardly sided with Pashtun artists. In the past, most of them were threatened by the pangs of hunger and starvation; bullets await their destiny at present. This is the way they have been walking the tight rope of life — and their profession — in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.

Ghazala Javaid, who was gunned down along with her father in Peshawar in June this year, is a fresh addition to the count of slain artists. Her murder highlights the vulnerability of the (female) artists, who fall prey to the criminal lust of predators. In the last few years she became the sixth artist, in the restive province, who was killed ostensibly for her profession.

Before the god of terror descended on Swat Valley, Ghazala was leading a modest life in the Banre Shahi Muhallah in Swat and used to earn her livelihood by performing in marriage ceremonies. Her exceptional charm was a crowed puller. But it was also a constant source of irritation in a society, where the audience objectifies the performer by enjoying her body more than her art.

After 2009, though huge displacement from the Swat Valley brought collective misery for all, Ghazala’s world apparently changed for the better. She settled with her family in Peshawar, where within the next couple of years extensive media coverage helped Ghazala to emerge as an accomplished young artist, who got extensive popularity in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Afghanistan and the Pashtun diaspora abroad. Her fan club swelled to the city’s elites, politicians, bureaucrats and dons of the local underworld.

At the peak of her career, Ghazala was forced to tie the knot with a property tycoon. Her colleagues considered this contract less of a marriage and more of a commercial deal. The marriage dissolved within a year, but it made life miserable for the young icon of Pashtu music, as her ex-husband was desperate to stop her from performing in Peshawar. Life threats for Ghazala increased every passing day, which compelled her to frequent the bordering Afghanistan. But ultimately her assassins succeeded in their mission.

After Ghazala’s brutal death, many young artists fear retribution from the local criminals, who, they believe, hardly miss a chance to net female performers by weaving around them a web of insecurities. This has left female artists vulnerable to the influences of criminal elements in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.

External influences usually trigger domestic disputes. Due to the money involved the financially insecure family members of such artists cannot resist the temptations and in their urge to get rich push themselves into the high-risk zone. Usually, “insecure background and family pressures compel artists to avail every chance coming their way. Bad choices, however, land the artists in serious trouble,” said a Peshawar-based journalist, Sheralam Shinwari. This lack of independence on the part of the female artist is a major cause of violence against them.

Though growth of the local entertainment sector has multiplied opportunities for singers, the capacity to avoid hazards related to stardom has yet to grow. This has resulted in a higher crime rate against female artists than their male counterparts. Many years ago Yasmin Khan, the legendary Pashtu film heroine of the late 1980s, was killed in her house in Peshawar. In 2009, young Pashtu poet and singer Aiman Uddas was allegedly gunned down by her brother. Domestic disputes led to the death of budding artist Rukhsana and another singer Rabia Tabbasam last year. Renowned Pashtu singer Shakeela Naz left for Canada, after her father was killed in Mardan. Nazia Iqbal, after her father’s murder at the hands of her husband, went into hibernation. Shabana was the only performing artist from Swat, whose brutal death was attributed to militants in 2009.

Family members, underworld mafia and militants are not the only perpetrators of such excesses. In fact, the state and non-state elements have collectively unleashed oppression against arts and artists for the last many decades. Even before the Partition, Teddy Bazaar in Peshawar fell to radicalism; after it was razed to the ground it was anointed by raising mosques in its four corners, and was renamed Islamabad and later Chitrali Bazaar. For musicians, instrument makers and artists, this bazaar was a shelter and main source of earning. In 2005, the MMA government forced the artists and singers from Dabgari Bazaar in Peshawar by unofficially renaming it Hazrat Umar Street; some 6,000 artists were rendered jobless.

Legendary Pashtu poet Ghani Khan once said that Pashtuns enjoy music, but they hate musicians. This inherent contradiction has lived for centuries on Pashtuns’ land. Artists here take birth in hordes, but they have to quit before they blossom. As one artist put it, “talent takes birth on Pashtun land in abundance, but people here are eager to bury it quite young.”