Before We Map New Provinces: Replacing Colonial Bu…
For eighteen years, I have made a quiet, sometimes lonely case: that technology, not more paperwork and more offices, is the only honest path to good governance in Pakistan. I did not arrive at this conviction from a textbook. I arrived at it from a desk inside the Planning Commission, watching a system that was designed — on paper — to deliver development, and instead delivered delay, opacity, and grievance.
Anyone who has sat through the sanctioning of a Public Sector Development Program (PSDP) project knows the ritual. The feasibility study is glowing. The PC-1 is approved with confident projections. Committees nod. Funds are released. And then the project disappears into the machinery of provincial implementation, where oversight thins out and accountability evaporates. What was promised on paper and what is delivered on the ground are, more often than not, two entirely different stories. I watched this happen again and again, and each time the gap between sanction and delivery was not explained by a shortage of money or expertise. It was explained by bureaucracy — a system built not to serve citizens but to preserve itself.
This is not an abstract observation. It is the root of a very real and very dangerous problem. A significant part of the unrest we see in Balochistan, in Azad Jammu and Kashmir, and in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa is not simply about resources or geography. It is about the absence of transparency and the absence of governance that people can see, question, and trust. When a citizen cannot find out where a development fund went, when a project sanctioned in Islamabad never materializes as promised in a district headquarters, when the only visible authority is a bureaucrat with a stamp and a discretionary signature, resentment grows. People do not rebel against distance from the capital. They rebel against being governed by a system that treats them as subjects to be managed rather than citizens to be served.
And here is the tragedy that too few are willing to name plainly: the bureaucratic architecture we still operate under was never designed to serve the governed. It was designed by the British Raj to control a colonized population — to extract revenue, maintain order, and ensure that authority always flowed downward from a distant center, never upward from the people. Files, layers of clearance, and the personal discretion of an officer were features of a colonial control system, not instruments of democratic accountability. We inherited that machinery at independence and, astonishingly, kept it largely intact. The tool built to pacify a colony has been repurposed, with barely a redesign, to govern a republic. It should trouble us deeply that a structure engineered to keep a colonized people in check is now one of the principal reasons that Pakistan’s most marginalized regions distrust their own government.
So when the conversation turns, as it periodically does, to creating new administrative units — carving out new divisions, new districts, new tiers of provincial machinery — as the answer to Balochistan’s or KPK’s grievances, I feel obligated to push back, loudly. Before we draw a single new administrative boundary, we must confront the core disease, not multiply its symptoms. New units will not dilute bureaucratic power; they will replicate it. Every new administrative tier is another office, another set of discretionary signatures, another opportunity for the same colonial-era logic of gatekeeping to entrench itself further. For the aggrieved citizen in Turbat or Muzaffarabad or Bannu, a new secretariat is not relief. It is simply a new address for the same unaccountable authority. We would be handing the bureaucracy — an institution that has shown a consistent instinct for self-preservation — more territory to govern, not less power to abuse. Real relief requires shrinking the space in which discretion operates unchecked, not expanding the number of desks where it can be exercised.
This is precisely why the moment for AI-enabled local governance has arrived, and why Pakistan can no longer afford to treat it as a distant aspiration. Around the world, and notably across India, urban local bodies and municipalities are moving beyond basic digitization toward what might be called algorithms of accountability — systems purpose-built to increase transparency, limit human discretion where it invites abuse, and protect citizen data. These frameworks generally rest on a few consistent pillars: ensuring that automated public decisions on things like welfare disbursement or tax assessment can be audited and challenged rather than buried in a file; protecting citizen data through clear legal safeguards; requiring any private vendor supplying government technology to disclose how its systems work; and actively checking automated tools for bias against marginalized communities.
The Indian experience offers concrete, transferable lessons. Municipal bodies in cities like Delhi and Bengaluru now use satellite imagery and mapping systems to flag unauthorized construction and property tax discrepancies — but critically, they pair this with a human-verification step, so an algorithm’s flag is only ever an advisory alert, not a final punishment, creating a documented trail a citizen can actually contest. States such as Telangana and Maharashtra have deployed multilingual citizen chatbots to handle civic complaints, built with data-masking safeguards that strip personal information before it ever touches a broader system. Smart-city command centers in Surat and Pune operate under strict data retention rules, so surveillance footage is automatically deleted unless tied to an active investigation, preventing the machinery from becoming a permanent surveillance state. And where facial-recognition attendance systems have been used to track municipal staff, unions pushed successfully for dispute mechanisms so that a technical glitch never costs a worker their wages.
None of these systems eliminate human judgment. What they eliminate is unaccountable, invisible, discretionary human judgment — the exact currency the colonial bureaucracy was built to trade in. That is the reform Pakistan needs at the local government level: not another administrative layer, but a transparent, auditable, citizen-facing system that makes it structurally difficult for a project to vanish between sanction and delivery, and structurally easy for a citizen in the most neglected corners of this country to see, in real time, where the money went and why.
Eighteen years ago I believed this was a matter of efficiency. Today I believe it is a matter of national survival. We cannot keep asking why the periphery feels alienated from the state while refusing to dismantle the very colonial machinery that manufactures that alienation. The choice before us is not between more bureaucracy and less. It is between a system engineered to control people and one engineered to serve them. Technology, honestly deployed, is how we finally choose the latter.
Enough delay. Enough committees. Enough files that travel for months and decisions that arrive too late to matter. Pakistan does not need more ink on more forms — it needs transparency, it needs accountability, it needs delivery the citizen can actually see, and it needs it now.
A Direct Message to the Prime Minister of Pakistan
Mr. Prime Minister, hear this plainly: carving new provinces out of old grievances, while leaving the same unreformed bureaucracy in charge of them, will not be reform. It will be a disaster — a slower-motion repeat of the same betrayal, multiplied across more offices, more secretariats, more discretionary stamps. A new province built on the old colonial machinery is not liberation for the people of Balochistan, AJK, or Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. It is the same cage, repainted, and handed a new name.
So here is the test of real courage and real intent. If the ambition is to bring the state closer to its people, then go further than anyone has dared: create not five new provinces, not ten — create a hundred, if that is what devolution demands. But build every single one of them on a foundation of AI-driven governance, radical transparency, and algorithmic accountability, not on the discretionary power of a bureaucrat’s signature. Let every rupee of every PSDP project be trackable by the citizen it was meant to serve. Let every grievance be logged, timestamped, and answered — not buried. Let no officer’s personal discretion ever again stand between a promise made in Islamabad and a result delivered in a village.
This — and only this — is what the people of Pakistan actually want. Not new maps. Not new masters. They want to see where the money went. They want a government that answers to them, not one that manages them. Mr. Prime Minister, the technology exists. The models exist. The political will is the only variable still missing. History will not remember how many provinces were drawn on your watch. It will remember whether you finally broke the bureaucracy’s century-old grip on this country’s trust — or whether you handed it more territory to rule. Choose transparency. Choose accountability. Choose the people. Choose now.
