Peshawar : February 11, 2026, the government of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK) quietly introduced a controversial directive directing female university not to visit male professors in their offices for any purpose without prior formal approval and the presence of a third party. The decision, communicated through the Higher Education Department earlier this month, has ignited debate across campuses, academic circles, and civil society.
While officials insist the move is meant to “protect both students and faculty,” critics argue that it exposes a deeper societal anxiety — one that refuses to accept that professional, normal, and respectful interactions between men and women are possible without suspicion or sexualization.
A senior official in the Higher Education Department of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, speaking off the record, defended the decision.
“We have received complaints in the past regarding misconduct and misunderstandings during one-on-one meetings,” he said. “The government’s responsibility is to create a safe academic environment. This policy is preventive in nature. It is not against women; it is for the protection of both sides.”
Another education department representative explained the logic more bluntly: “In our cultural context, such interactions can be misinterpreted. We want to minimize situations where allegations can arise. A transparent mechanism ensures that no one is vulnerable.”
The directive reportedly requires that meetings between female students and male faculty members be conducted in open spaces, with office doors left open, or in the presence of administrative staff. Some universities have gone further, advising female students to route academic concerns through female faculty members whenever possible.
On paper, the policy may appear administrative. In practice, it signals something far deeper about how the state views gender interaction.
Universities are meant to be spaces of intellectual maturity. They are not schools. They are not homes. They are professional institutions where adults engage in academic exchange.
By banning or restricting female students from meeting male professors privately for academic guidance, thesis supervision, or consultation, the state is effectively declaring that ordinary professional interaction between a man and a woman is inherently suspicious.
This is not a protection policy. It is a reflection of distrust.
It suggests that we, as a society, are unable to imagine a normal, respectful relationship between genders unless it is heavily monitored. It reinforces the idea that proximity equals impropriety — that intellectual engagement cannot exist without sexual undertones.
If universities begin operating on the assumption that men and women cannot interact professionally without risk, what message does that send to the broader society? To workplaces? To courts? To hospitals?
It implies regression, not progress.
Yet, the decision has found supporters — including some within academia.
A senior professor at University of Malakand openly welcomed the directive.
“In principle, academic freedom is important,” he said, “but we must also be realistic. There have been cases where male professors faced serious allegations. Even if you are innocent, the damage to reputation is irreversible.”
He argued that the policy protects faculty members from potential blackmail.
“In some cases, if a female student is not given good grades, she may retaliate with accusations. I am not saying this happens everywhere, but it does happen. This policy creates a safeguard.”
His remarks highlight a silent fear that exists among male faculty — the fear of accusation in an era where harassment allegations carry significant consequences.
A senior professor at Bacha Khan University Mardan, while appreciating the government’s intent to create safeguards, also cautioned against generalizing misconduct.
“Yes, I agree that some professors may be bad and their conduct may not be that of a professor,” he said. “But that does not mean you criminalize the entire community of teachers. The majority of us are professionals who take our responsibility seriously.”
He added that while protective mechanisms are necessary, policy decisions should not create an atmosphere where every male professor is viewed with suspicion. “Accountability is important, but collective punishment or implied mistrust damages morale,” he remarked.
This perspective highlights the tension within academia: while there is acknowledgment that misconduct can occur, there is also concern that broad restrictions risk portraying the entire teaching community as potentially guilty.
Another professor teaching at a private university in Peshawar, who requested anonymity, echoed similar sentiments.
“In private universities, the situation is even more complicated,” he said. “If you fail a student — especially a female student — it can become an administrative issue. Complaints escalate quickly. Management sides with fee-paying students. Professors often feel exposed.”
He added that many faculty members privately support the government’s move.
“To be honest, professors are relieved. At least now there is an official policy. Earlier, you were alone in handling these situations. Now the responsibility shifts to institutional procedure.”
These views reveal a deeper institutional crisis: a lack of trust in complaint mechanisms, due process, and professional safeguards.
If harassment cases or false allegations exist, the solution lies in transparent complaint procedures, strong internal inquiry committees, CCTV-monitored corridors, and clear academic grading standards.
It does not lie in restricting gender interaction.
Policies built on fear rarely solve the root cause. Instead, they shift the burden onto structural segregation.
Ironically, the directive may harm female students more than anyone else. Research students, especially those working on dissertations, often require detailed, confidential academic discussions with supervisors. Requiring third-party presence can inhibit open intellectual exchange. Sensitive academic feedback — particularly on thesis drafts — cannot always be delivered in a public setting.
Moreover, in many departments, male professors form the majority of senior faculty. Redirecting female students only to female professors may be impractical or academically limiting.
The state’s approach risks infantilizing adult women by implying they require constant supervision in professional spaces.
At its core, this decision reflects a long-standing cultural discomfort with mixed-gender interaction. Instead of evolving towards maturity, the policy leans into segregation.
It is easier to restrict than to reform. It is easier to assume danger than to build trust.
The irony is stark: universities are spaces meant to teach critical thinking, yet the policy itself seems to reject the possibility of mature, rational conduct between adults.
By institutionalizing suspicion, the government may unintentionally strengthen the narrative that men and women cannot coexist professionally without oversight.
The directive from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa may have been introduced with the intention of preventing controversy. But its broader implications are cultural.
It signals that instead of strengthening systems of accountability, we are defaulting to segregation.
It tells young women that their presence in academic spaces is conditional.
It tells male professors that they are presumed vulnerable or potentially culpable.
And it tells society that normal professional relationships between genders are too risky to trust.
If universities — the supposed incubators of modern thought — begin operating on such assumptions, then perhaps the real issue is not misconduct. It is our collective inability to evolve.
The question is not whether safety matters. Of course it does.
The question is whether safety can only be achieved by retreating into separation — or whether true progress lies in building institutions mature enough to handle equality without fear.