Opinion

The original 1973 Constitution, Charter of Democracy (COD), and the landmark 18th Amendment all call for a strong local government system. Till today, it remains the unfinished agenda of good governance. It is key to the modernization of the state, society, and politics. The consensual Constitution was a miracle and a masterstroke of the elected government of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto (ZAB). Devolution was a cornerstone of this document, so painfully drafted by elected representatives of the people. As the newly created provinces after the break-up of the infamous One Unit lacked the capacity to handle vital areas like education, health, and agriculture, a concurrent list was prepared to devolve these departments systematically to the provincial governments. A Department of Provincial Coordination was created to oversee this transfer from Islamabad to Lahore, Karachi, Peshawar, and Quetta. Unfortunately, after the fall of the government in July 1977, the entire process was stalled. Governments that followed did not take this transfer seriously, resulting in serious governance issues. The two mainstream political parties of the time, PPP and PML-N, followed with the COD in May 2006, in which it was agreed to build an effective local government system. Unfortunately, after the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, the driving force behind the Charter, it was not fully adhered to. Instead, the 18th Amendment was passed by the legislature in April 2010 to restore the original document. Through this constitutional clean-up, Islamabad was cut to size while power and resources were handed over to the provincial governments, with the hope that they would be devolved all the way down to the tehsil and union council levels. But that did not take place. While the federal government was depleted, the provinces grew fat and started indulging in frivolous projects. In Punjab, Lahore was developed as a flagship showcase project for publicity while the rest of the province was left to languish. Karachi was ignored; resources were moved inland by the provincial government. The menace of incompetence, corruption, and abuse of authority has to be addressed at the national level before it is devolved; otherwise, it will be more of the same. The Civil Secretariat in Lahore, also called Lat Sahib Ka Daftar, which runs the largest province of the federation, reveals it all. Office hours are not observed; files do not move without wheels; records are poorly managed. There was a time when the Chief Minister resided only in GOR-I on Club Road, while official work was carried out at the Secretariat, but not anymore. Most senior officers (Chief Secretary, Commissioner, Deputy Commissioner, etc.) have established home offices, resulting in duplication and waste. Till the decade of the 1970s, only the telephone operator and one coordinator manned most official residences, but not anymore. Great Britain ruled the world with its Commissioners System. The only difference was that there was civilian oversight and accountability by the British Parliament, which has faded over time in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan (IRP). Till today, the flag is unfurled at the office and residence of the Deputy Commissioner (DC), as representative of the Crown with sovereign powers (administrative, judicial, and revenue). Over the years, some judicial powers have been taken away; otherwise, the DC runs the district while the Commissioner controls the division. Recently, in Lahore, the Commissioner’s office was moved from the Sanda area to the Mall, across from Aitchison College. It is a fancy structure right on the main artery of the city, where millions have been spent on refurbishing the building vacated by the Naval Staff College, which was established close to the waters of the Lahore Canal. Perhaps it has been moved to the BRB waters now. One office move has strained the budget of the province. What will happen if scores of such infrastructures are built for new provincial governments? Growing up on the Mall, close to the Town Hall (Lahore Municipal Corporation, now Metropolitan Corporation of Lahore), my memory is of a functional city run by an elected mayor. Today, the metropolis is non-functional as it is under the control of the bureaucracy instead of an accountable elected representative of the people. In the USA, the President runs the federation, the fifty states are under the Governors, while the Mayor controls the city, all directly elected by the people. Except for the President, there is an Electoral College as well. The state of Texas is larger in area than Pakistan, yet it is fully functional. The cities are run by elected city governments. Town hall meetings are regularly held where public input is solicited to improve services; service to the people is the common agenda. Once the system is made functional by getting rid of the evils, devolution can be effective. The federal government has offices in major cities of America, but most day-to-day work is carried out by state and city governments. The Americans believe that no government is the best government; as such, employment is limited to minimal functional staff. Procedures are updated and simplified for the smooth flow of work. Obstacles are removed for functionality. More of the same has never worked in the past, nor will it work in the future. Dysfunctional bureaucracy has to be made functional to kick-start the stalled system for real devolution to take place.

Pakistan does not need an external adversary to explain its economic decline. It has one at home, operating out of two regulatory buildings in Islamabad: the National Electric Power Regulatory Authority and the Oil and Gas Regulatory Authority, backstopped by a Ministry of Power and a Ministry of Petroleum that have spent two decades signing contracts, indexing tariffs, and deferring hard decisions in ways that now function less like national stewardship and more like a slow, self-administered dismantling of the country’s own industrial base. There is an old Urdu instinct for this kind of failure — “apne pairon par khud kulhari maarna,” to swing the axe onto your own foot — and it captures the pattern better than any conspiracy theory could. Nobody needs to have plotted Pakistan’s energy collapse. Two regulators simply kept striking the same foot, quarter after quarter, determination after determination, until there was nothing left to stand on. Start with NEPRA, and start with the number that should embarrass every member of its board. On August 10, 2026, the Authority approved a 30-year, 9.4-US-cent tariff for the 102 MW Gulpur hydropower project — a project whose tariff history is itself a case study in regulatory drift, having been revised in 2015, modified again in 2021 for exchange-rate relief, and delayed by force majeure claims for the better part of a decade before finally being settled this month, over the recorded dissent of one of NEPRA’s own members. Three weeks earlier, the same regulator had approved a tariff of just 3.0899 US cents for a 269 MW hybrid wind-and-solar project at Dhabeji.  A regulator capable of holding both of those numbers in its hands in the same month and treating them as equally acceptable outcomes is not pricing risk. It has simply stopped asking what things should cost. Then, in February 2026, NEPRA turned the same instinct on ordinary citizens. Its Prosumer Regulations 2026 dismantled the one-to-one net metering framework that had made rooftop solar a rational household investment, replacing it with net billing: excess power sold back to the grid at the National Average Energy Purchase Price of roughly Rs 10–13 per unit, while the same household buys grid electricity back minutes later at full retail rates. A citizen who financed their own panels, took on their own installation risk, and asked nothing from the state now effectively subsidizes the grid every time the sun shines. Compare that to Gulpur’s sponsors, who face none of that asymmetry and are guaranteed indexed returns for three decades. The Ministry of Power approved this framework and let it stand, even after the Prime Minister was reported to have ordered a NEPRA appeal to protect existing solar users — an appeal that, months later, has changed remarkably little for new applicants. OGRA, the sister regulator for oil and gas, has been just as busy inflicting damage of its own kind, and its failures deserve equal billing, because it is the gas sector, not electricity, that has produced Pakistan’s most persistent circular debt crisis. By July 2026, Pakistan’s gas circular debt had reached roughly Rs 3.44 trillion, and the country had missed an IMF deadline for a gas tariff notification that the Fund treats as a structural benchmark for the entire bailout program. OGRA’s own determinations tell the story: SNGPL and SSGC continue to report system losses well above the “unaccounted-for-gas” allowances built into their tariffs — 8.8 % actual against a roughly 7 % allowance for SNGPL, and a startling 13.6 % actual against an 8.2 % allowance for SSGC — with the gap simply passed through to consumers as cost rather than treated as the operational failure it is. In July 2026, when OGRA’s own recalculated prescribed prices should have lowered consumer gas bills, the federal government instead chose to keep tariffs unchanged and let SNGPL bank a projected Rs 44 billion surplus and SSGC a smaller one, rather than pass relief to the households and factories paying the bill. This is not regulation. It is bookkeeping in service of institutional convenience, dressed up as prudence. The consequence of all this — NEPRA’s mispriced generation contracts, its punitive treatment of rooftop solar, OGRA’s tolerance of chronic system losses, and both ministries’ shared unwillingness to force a reckoning — is a business environment where foreign direct investors cannot model their own electricity or gas costs five years out, let alone thirty. Industrial production stalls not because Pakistani manufacturers lack skill or ambition, but because no factory can plan around a power bill and a gas bill set by regulators who reward legacy contracts over least-cost technology and who treat circular debt as something to defer rather than solve. Pakistan’s Interior Minister recently said publicly that “the system has collapsed” — a remark aimed at governance and security, but one that describes the energy sector with uncomfortable precision, and one the security establishment has been strangely slow to connect to its own economic consequences. A country cannot out-negotiate a debt crisis it keeps manufacturing at the regulator’s desk every single quarter. None of this requires believing anyone set out to sabotage the country. It requires recognizing that an institution can do a slow version of the same damage through nothing more than inertia, misaligned incentives, and a persistent unwillingness to price energy the way the rest of the world now prices it — cheaply, competitively, and honestly. NEPRA and OGRA do not need another IMF-mandated hearing or another quarterly adjustment. They need leadership willing to admit that thirty years of axe-swings at the country’s own foot is enough, and that the next tariff determination should finally start asking what things should cost, not merely what precedent allows. So who actually chooses the people who run NEPRA and OGRA? This is the part of the story that gets almost no scrutiny, and it should. Both chairmen are selected by the federal cabinet from shortlists assembled by selection committees chaired by a serving federal minister — for NEPRA, historically the Minister for

A few days ago, Mr. Hakan Fidan, the Foreign Minister of Turkey, briefed the media on the MJDA. He said that the operational mechanisms will be decided at the first meeting of the joint committee comprising the foreign and defense ministers and the Chief of General Staff. He also provided an overview of possible areas of cooperation. In this context, it is high time to discuss the future orientation of the MJDA, especially areas of cooperation and investment to build a future-oriented alliance. A few areas have been identified for consideration.   First of all, the three partners must understand that the era of traditional war is rapidly becoming irrelevant. The concepts of 5th-, 6th-, 7th-, and 8th-generation warfare are evolving into new dynamics: 9th-generation warfare. Thus, Cooperation under MJDA must be based on the new elements and needs of 9th-generation warfare, in addition to traditional areas. Now the question is, what is 9th-generation warfare? 9th-generation warfare has a few characteristics that distinguish it from past generations of warfare.   First, 9th-generation warfare will minimize, if not eliminate, the role of humans to a greater extent. The first glimpse of this type of warfare is evident in the form of unmanned UVs. Russia-Ukraine and USA-Iran wars further reinforce this argument. However, humans are still engaged in one way or another in wars, including devising and executing plans and engaging in face-to-face combat. For example, during the application of 4th- and 5th-generation warfare in the Middle East, humans remained a constant factor in leading and executing the wars. After the bombardment of Iraq, it was humans who captured the land.   However, it is anticipated that artificial intelligence will take over this job in future wars, and future wars will be run by artificial intelligence and its tools. For example, in 9th-generation warfare, artificial intelligence-based robots can take over the role of humans. Robots can invade a country, or they can also be used in guerrilla warfare. Countries can also use robots to conduct terrorist activities. They can send the robots with an anonymous identity, and no one will be able to trace the origin. Organized crime organizations can also use them to conduct their activities, such as targeted killings.   Let’s imagine another scenario. Robots are invading a country. They fight either humans or other robots. Countries with better technology can turn robots into double-edged weapons. On the one hand, robots will be fighting machines. However, they can also equip robots with destructive explosives, such as nuclear material or other explosives. Then what would be the opponent’s choices? How will opponents fight an explosive-ridden robot? They will take over the country if they do not stop the robots. On the other hand, if they try to destroy the robots, the nuclear explosives will detonate, which can cause serious damage. The scenario would be quite scary, and countries with advanced robot and AI technology can maneuver situations in their favor.   Second, the most developed countries have recently taken war into outer space, especially the USA. The USA’s obsession with and investment in outer space have compelled other countries to follow the suit. As a result, they are investing heavily, instigating an outer space race for dominance. The race has accelerated since the establishment of the US Space Force. According to the Vice President of the USA, Mr. Pence, the force was launched with four specific objectives. First, U.S. Space Command “will establish unified command and control for our Space Force operations; ensure integration across the military; and develop the space warfighting doctrine, tactics, techniques and procedures of the future.” Second, a military astronaut corps, which Pence called “an elite group of joint warfighters specializing in the domain of space.” Third, a Space Development Agency that will research and develop new technologies and “ensure cutting-edge warfighting capabilities.” Fourth, new bureaucratic structures that will define “clear lines of responsibility and accountability to manage the process of standing up and scaling up the United States Department of the Space Force.”   The USA and its allies are enhancing cooperation to outpace others and dominate outer space. As a result, they have launched a malicious campaign against China and Russia. They are portraying China and Russia as threats to global peace and to the use of outer space to attract public attention, support, and financial resources. At the same time, they also want to hinder the advancement of other countries in space technology to maintain their hegemony in the application of space technologies for war dominance. For example, during the Gulf War of the 1990s, the USA and allied forces used space technologies to outmaneuver their opponents. Since then, the USA and its allies have been working to further improve space technology and prevent other countries from developing these technologies.   Therefore, it is anticipated that space war will be multifaceted. On the one hand, there will be a race to control or maneuver opponents’ satellites by interfering with their software. This will be done to obtain information or spread disinformation. Sending arms into space to destroy opponents’ satellites is also possible. On the other hand, some countries have developed capabilities to hit satellites from the ground. This has opened a new field of military offense.   The use of space technology for military dominance created fear in the developing world. They fear that leading countries in space technology will use space for control and interference, collect information, and dictate to other countries. For example, the USA uses navigation systems to collect data and outmaneuver others in wars.   Third, in recent times, we have observed that COVID-19 has played havoc with humanity. It has shaken the whole world. The whole world came to a standstill. Markets were closed, and the tourism industry sank. It has introduced the world to a new danger of biological war. Biological war is considered one of the most lethal forms of war, as only one person can paralyze the world. One virus can shut down the whole world

Inflation is at its peak all around the world, while some in one part of the world cannot afford clean fresh water, others are buying a cup of coffee worth more than 10 dollars just to meet their aesthetics for an instagram story. It has become a necessity to upgrade their phones each year as apples launch new versions, or to eat at fancy cafes just to take pictures of the food even if their rent is not due. These are the outcomes and aftermaths of the rise of social media trends.   A new occupation of being an online influencer has emerged. Where a decade ago A-list celebrities were paid to promote products, now the same can be done through influencers (which from a marketing point of view is a lot cheaper and faster for companies). An influencer makes a 30 second video of persuasively advertisementing customers which allows them to make sufficient amounts of income. Paradoxically  they may even be neglectful of the product they are branding being safe or useful. Thus, common people with normal 9-5 jobs are falling for these traps online.   Millennials and Genz, both have been found to indulge in these unnecessary shopping habits arising from the online advertisements of influencers. The lives of influencers may seem perfect. Contradictorily someone promoting a skin care treatment may have genetically clear skin, others promoting health and fitness programmes may in reality live an unhealthy lifestyle. Little by little, bit by bit people who scroll on social media platforms like instagram and facebook are convinced to purchase needless items with no useful impact in their lives.   Gluttony is regarded as one of the seven deadly sins. The newly emerged habit of online shopping is feeding into it. Young adults nowadays are often in debt, however not the usual student debt they owe to their colleges- but the ones they owe to the credit card companies whom they have failed to pay back for the haphazard jumble of products they have purchased while not being cautioned enough. Most of these purchases are done to fit in a trend and are often to please the society they are around rather than personal desires.   One after another, the oligarchs set up traps for the world and yet again and again we have been seemingly fallen for it. May it be big fast food chains labeling every ultraprocessed junk as “high in protein” whilst hiding the fact that the same products are also high in processed fats and preservatives or having addictive ingredients which release dopamine and makes the buyer destined to repurchase.   People often call this impulse buying “convenient” for it is delivered on doorsteps. In some cases it may be accuarte, but in truth it is another method of making people becoming indolent and shiftless. A 10 minute walk to the supermarket is avoided when apps like doordash are introduced to deliver groceries to doorsteps- the same 10 minute walk which is without a debate must for all ages. Not only is this extremely harmful for the human body physically but it has its dangerous impacts on psychological health leading to high profile cases of depression and isolation.   These habits start slow and seem innocent, until they become addictions and empty bank accounts while also destroying an individual’s ability to live a life in which pleasing others is not a priority. This trend does not seem to stop anytime soon- nevertheless it is expanding endlessly in all countries, cultures and environments. Even in this cycle the rich gain tremendously while the poor pay unconsciously thinking that their lives are improving. This is modern slavery where chains are replaced by computers given to people in their hands and control their lives through it.

The preceding five parts of this series have argued that elimination of riba cannot be achieved by changing the vocabulary of finance. We began with definition, moved to creation of money, separated transaction deposits from investment capital, examined productive finance based on ownership and genuine risk, and then placed Bait-ul-Mal, waqf, zakat and qard hasan within a wider system of social protection. The final question is no longer conceptual. It is legislative. Pakistan now has a date. The Constitution (Twenty-sixth Amendment) Act, 2024 substituted Article 38(f) with the direction to “eliminate riba completely before the first day of January, two thousand twenty-eight”. The constitutional deadline reinforces the Federal Shariat Court’s 2022 judgment in the Riba cases, reported as PLD 2023 FSC 47. The problem is that a deadline does not itself create a new financial order. The Finance Division’s Post-2027 Financial System in Pakistan contains useful work on Sukuk, liquidity facilities, legislation, safety nets, technology and capacity building. It nevertheless remains a strategy, not a Prohibition of Riba law. More importantly, some of its transitional assumptions sit uneasily with the word “completely”. Majority foreign-owned institutions may decide voluntarily whether to convert; conventional obligations contracted before the deadline may continue according to their terms until maturity; and fresh foreign financing is contemplated through Shariah-compliant modes subject to availability of reasonable options. These concerns are understandable from the perspective of financial stability. They cannot become permanent legal exceptions. Pakistan therefore needs an umbrella Prohibition of Riba Act, enacted well before the constitutional cut-off, accompanied by consequential federal and provincial amendments [Who will draft Riba Prohibition Law? Minute Mirror, April 7, 2026]. Its first task must be the one identified in Part I: define what is prohibited. The law should distinguish a loan or debt carrying a stipulated increase because of time from lawful consideration arising from genuine sale, lease, service, partnership or productive risk. Courts and regulators should be empowered to examine connected contracts as one economic arrangement. A murabaha, ijarah, musharakah or Sukuk should not become immune from scrutiny merely because recognised Islamic terminology appears in its documents. The second requirement is a clear cut-off rule. No bank, financial institution, government agency or other regulated person should be permitted to originate a new interest-bearing financial contract in Pakistan after December 31, 2027. The prohibition must be activity-based, not ownership-based. A transaction cannot change its constitutional character because shareholders of the institution happen to be foreign. This is also the weakness we identified earlier in examining the Government’s strategy paper. Existing liabilities require different treatment. Pakistan cannot simply repudiate sovereign bonds, multilateral obligations or private contracts. That would replace one problem with default, litigation and financial isolation. The law should instead require a complete register of every conventional obligation extending beyond the cut-off: principal, return, maturity, governing law, creditor, refinancing possibility and proposed conversion date. Contracts capable of consensual refinancing should be converted. Those that cannot immediately be altered should continue only under a transparent transitional schedule with definite sunset dates, rather than receiving an indefinite exemption merely because they were signed before 2028. The third issue concerns money itself. Part II argued that commercial-bank money creation is not automatically riba. The power to create purchasing power through credit is nevertheless too important to remain outside reform. Parliament should require a time-bound examination of sovereign transaction money, reserve arrangements and separation of monetary creation from productive financial intermediation. This question should be decided upon economic evidence and institutional consequences, not theological assertion. Part III then demonstrated why payment accounts and investment accounts require legal separation. Money held for immediate payment and nominal safety should not be treated as risk capital. Funds deliberately invested for commercial return should carry transparent exposure to the enterprises and assets from which that return arises. Deposit protection against institutional failure must similarly be distinguished from a State guarantee against every commercial investment loss. The fourth area is productive finance. The law should protect genuine murabaha, ijarah, salam, istisna, musharakah, mudarabah and other permissible arrangements while prescribing minimum standards of ownership, possession, disclosure and risk. Shariah audit should examine economic substance rather than merely documentation. Taxation must also become neutral. Equity participation, leasing and genuine asset transactions should not suffer additional fiscal costs merely because legislation was historically designed around conventional debt. Public finance cannot remain outside this discipline. Government should not treat Sukuk merely as a technique for reproducing conventional borrowing against whatever public assets can be placed in a registry. The official strategy itself proposes an Assets Registry Company and expanded hybrid Sukuk issuance. Sovereign instruments must confer genuine economic rights and corresponding responsibilities rather than provide documentary assets solely to support a predetermined financial return. Fiscal reform is inseparable from elimination of riba. No monetary arrangement can remain sound where governments continuously borrow merely to finance structural deficits. Monetary policy requires the same intellectual honesty. The Government’s strategy envisages Shariah-compliant open-market operations, standing facilities and liquidity arrangements. These are necessary developments, but changing contractual forms will not be enough if their sole objective becomes mechanical reproduction of the existing interest-rate corridor. SBP ultimately needs a transparent post-riba monetary framework explaining liquidity creation and absorption, lender-of-last-resort assistance, foreign-exchange operations and monetary transmission. The fifth element takes us beyond banking altogether. Part V argued that riba flourishes not only because creditors seek gain but also because human beings are compelled by need. A successful transition must therefore strengthen Bait-ul-Mal, professionally governed public waqf lillah, independently administered zakat and revolving qard hasan funds. Essential healthcare, education, disability support and subsistence during genuine incapacity should never become markets for financial extraction. Local cooperative institutions should provide the bridge from protection to participation. The lesson drawn from Rabobank was not that Pakistan should import a Dutch banking model. It was that communities can mobilise their resources and build productive institutions from below. Properly regulated cooperatives can gradually shift economic power away from patrons and concentrated financial interests towards citizens themselves. Governance is consequently as important as Shariah nomenclature. Pakistan

Pakistan was achieved on the fourteenth of August in the year nineteen hundred and forty-seven, after sacrifices of a magnitude that still stir the soul and a struggle whose tirelessness remains an enduring lesson. Millions crossed borders in those turbulent months, leaving behind ancestral homes, familial graves, and the familiar soil of generations, so that a new homeland might rise where Muslims could live according to their faith and their free will. We stand now upon the threshold of the eighth decade of that hard-won independence. I, a Pakistani by birth and by conviction, have myself lived nearly fifty-eight years within the borders of this free land. This country conferred upon me an identity that no foreign power could erase, furnished me with the means of an independent existence—schools in which to learn, roads upon which to travel, markets in which to earn my bread—bestowed a measure of respect in the eyes of the world, and, in some degree, granted me a name among my fellows. Yet the question returns, quietly and persistently, like a debt long deferred; what have I given in return? Have I ever paused long enough, in the press of daily concerns, to weigh that debt with honesty? The same inquiry must be put, with equal seriousness and without partiality, to the institutions that were meant to serve as the pillars of the state, and to the rulers and authorities who have held power through these eighty years. What account can they render of their stewardship? Parliament was intended as the voice of the people; the courts as the guardians of justice; the civil service as the steady hand of administration; the universities as the nurseries of thought and character. Have these bodies discharged their duties with fidelity, or have they at times become arenas of personal ambition, partisan calculation, and the slow corrosion of public trust? The rulers who succeeded one another, whether civilian or military, received the same inheritance of soil, of people, and of hope. What have they added to the national store of justice, of prosperity, of self-respect, and of unity? The record is mixed, and the gaps are painful to contemplate. Have we, as a people, ever undertaken a true reckoning of our collective performance—not the ritual of speeches on national days, but a sober examination of conscience? And if such an accounting was made, did it lead to any genuine reformation of our ways, or did we merely resume the old habits once the anniversary had passed? Where, in truth, does Pakistan stand as a state at this present hour? We possess a land rich in rivers and fertile plains, a people endowed with resilience and talent, a strategic position that nature itself seems to have marked for consequence. Yet we continue to wrestle with the burdens of poverty that still touch too many homes, with the lingering shadows of disorder in parts of the country, with the uneasy balance between institutions that ought to complement one another, and with the persistent temptation to place private gain above the common good. Have we preserved, or have we frittered away, the sacred trust that our ancestors placed in our hands when they bequeathed us this country? That trust was not lightly given. It demanded vigilance against tyranny, honesty in public dealing, a willingness to educate the young in both knowledge and character, and a readiness to place the welfare of the whole above the advantage of the few. Looking back across the decades, one is compelled to ask whether that demand has been met in full measure. I do not exempt myself from this examination. For nearly six decades I have drawn from the well of national life—the protection of law, the opportunity to work and to speak, the simple privilege of calling myself a citizen of a free land. Have my contributions matched the gifts received? Have I laboured, in whatever sphere was allotted me, to strengthen rather than weaken the fabric of the republic? Have I spoken truth when silence was easier, practised fairness when partiality promised profit, and taught the rising generation that freedom is not a birthright to be consumed but a responsibility to be renewed? Honesty requires that each of us answer such questions in the solitude of his own heart, without the convenient shield of collective excuses or the comfortable habit of blaming those who came before. Enough, then, of evasion. The hour has come for every citizen, high or low, including the writer of these lines, to conduct a personal audit. Let each examine what he has taken and what he has returned. Let the institutions examine their fidelity to the purposes for which they were created. Let those who hold authority examine whether their decisions have served the enduring interests of the state or the fleeting interests of the moment. Only through such unsparing self-examination, followed by the hard work of reform, can the trust of the founders be renewed and the promise of Pakistan still be fulfilled for those who will inherit what we leave behind.

The geopolitical partition of the Indian subcontinent in the mid-twentieth century and the subsequent emergence of two sovereign nation-states remain among the most complex and defining chapters in modern global history. Within constitutional studies, postcolonial scholarship, and international affairs, this monumental shift has often been viewed through overly reductive lenses—frequently chalked up to imperial haste, nationalist fervor, or entrenched religious polarization. Yet, evaluated through a critical, detached twenty-first-century historical paradigm, a far more nuanced reality emerges: the creation of Pakistan was neither the product of a singular conspiracy nor a sudden historical accident. Rather, it represented a profound tripartite structural crisis triggered by Britain’s post-war imperial retreat, the Indian National Congress’s persistent anxiety over central authority, and the All-India Muslim League’s long-standing constitutional struggle to secure the political rights, economic safeguards, and existence of the subcontinent’s Muslim minority. To comprehend the foundational tier of this historical watershed, one must first analyze the global political economy and British colonial strategy of the 1940s. The devastation of the Second World War eroded the financial, administrative, and military underpinnings of the British Empire. British India—once celebrated as the crown jewel of the realm—had transmuted into an unsustainable administrative burden for Clement Attlee’s post-war Labour government in London. Official imperial correspondence compiled in The Transfer of Power 1942–47 exposes an unmistakable truth: London’s primary objective was no longer to establish an equitable political settlement in South Asia, but rather to execute a swift, low-cost exit that mitigated further economic and military liability. This imperial burnout precipitated Lord Mountbatten’s rushed exit strategy, which abruptly advanced the timeline for the transfer of power from June 1948 to August 1947. The human and spatial catastrophe that followed was exacerbated by the Boundary Commission led by Sir Cyril Radcliffe—a man with no prior familiarity with the subcontinent’s intricate demographic and cultural fabric, tasked with carving borders across maps in a matter of weeks. The chaotic fallout of the Radcliffe Award, the controversial inclusion of Muslim-majority tehsils like Gurdaspur into India, the bloody bifurcation of Punjab and Bengal, and the largest forced migration in human history were ultimately the catastrophic human costs paid by millions of South Asians for a retreating empire’s hasty flight. The second dimension of this tripartite framework involves the political, ideological, and constitutional stance of the Indian National Congress—a position frequently mischaracterized in one-sided narratives as sheer personal hubris or partisan bias. A rigorous, objective historical analysis of the Congress leadership, particularly figures like Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, reveals that their overriding strategic fear was the “Balkanization” of the subcontinent into scores of autonomous, warring princely states. The Congress maintained that governing a vast, culturally diverse land mass under a weak central power alongside sprawling princely domains was fundamentally unviable. They advocated for a highly centralized state capable of driving industrialization, economic cohesion, and geopolitical stability. Consequently, Congress consistently resisted flexible federal structures that granted extensive provincial autonomy, fearing that a weak central government would inevitably lead to the fragmentation of India’s geographical and political integrity. However, the third and arguably most crucial ideological and legal dimension was the constitutional resistance led by the All-India Muslim League under Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah—a struggle born out of the inherent limitations of majoritarian, “Westminster-style” numerical democracy. In culturally homogenous Western societies, the principle of “one person, one vote” forms the bedrock of democratic governance. Yet in the deeply stratified, multi-religious reality of the subcontinent, strict numerical majoritarianism effectively condemned a twenty-five percent Muslim minority to permanent political subordination under a seventy-five percent Hindu majority. For the Muslim population, this contest was never merely about securing a share of administrative power; it was a fundamental fight for legislative self-determination, economic survival, and cultural preservation. A close reading of the subcontinent’s constitutional trajectory demonstrates that the demand for Pakistan did not originate as a call for immediate territorial separation. From the Simla Deputation of 1906 and the constitutional reforms of 1909 to the Lucknow Pact of 1916, Jinnah’s Fourteen Points of 1929, and the Government of India Act of 1935, the primary objective of Muslim leadership was to secure provincial autonomy, separate electorates, and robust constitutional safeguards within a unified Indian federation. As the eminent Cambridge historian Ayesha Jalal highlighted in The Sole Spokesman, the demand for Pakistan functioned for a long time as a sophisticated strategic bargaining chip aimed at securing equal constitutional weight at the center, ensuring minority rights could not be overridden by sheer majoritarian dominance. The pivotal turning point occurred following the 1937 provincial elections. When the Indian National Congress formed unilateral governments across most of British India while sidelining minority representation, its twenty-month tenure transformed the Muslim League’s theoretical anxieties into stark political reality. The final, most promising opportunity for a united, decentralized India was the Cabinet Mission Plan of 1946. It proposed grouping British Indian provinces into three autonomous tiers, restricting the federal center strictly to defense, foreign affairs, and communications. Demonstrating extraordinary political foresight and statesmanship, Jinnah accepted the Cabinet Mission Plan despite heavy internal dissent, striving to preserve the geographic unity of the subcontinent while securing constitutional autonomy for Muslims. This fragile compromise collapsed in July 1946 during a press conference in Bombay, where Jawaharlal Nehru declared that Congress would enter the Constituent Assembly “unfettered by agreements” and free to modify the Cabinet Mission Plan. In his seminal work Partition of India: Legend and Reality, renowned Indian jurist and constitutional historian H. M. Seervai meticulously documented how Congress’s rigid insistence on hyper-centralization and rejection of a loose federation torpedoed the Cabinet Mission Plan. At that crucial juncture, the demand for a separate, sovereign state ceased to be an idealistic campaign; it became the sole viable, logical pathway to guarantee political equality, dignity, and constitutional security for millions of Muslims. Underpinning this prolonged political contest was an essential socio-economic reality often overlooked in conventional historiography. In British India, commercial networks, civil administration, and industrial capital were predominantly concentrated within the Hindu middle class, leaving the Muslim agrarian class, tenant

Readers might have noticed my infatuation with the past. I often relate my childhood experience to a modern day issue. I often drag my school or university days when I write about today’s youth. I love my past, but sometimes what worries me the most is what if these memories disappear or fade gradually. As we age, our memory becomes weak and we start forgetting the past events. Occasionally, I struggle to remember the name of someone who I met a couple of weeks ago. I still have several friends who narrate a two decade old event with minute detail. I envy their brain health. Now I find this excellent blog on Minute Mirror site which says something that gave me real comfort. It said forgotten memories may not be gone at all. They may just be sleeping. Scientists studied fruit flies, of all creatures, and found something remarkable. When they placed these tiny flies back in an environment similar to where a memory first formed, that memory came alive again. It was not dead. It was only quiet, waiting for the right door to knock on. Now I am no scientist, friends. I am just a man who spends too much time looking backward. But when I read this, something in my chest loosened up a little. Because I always feared that my old memories were leaking out of me, drop by drop, the way water leaks from a cracked clay pot. I feared that one day I would wake up and my childhood street would be gone from my mind, my mother’s voice reading me stories would be gone, the smell of my school canteen would be gone. But this research tells a gentler story. It tells me that memory is not a candle that simply burns out. It is more like a lamp switched off in a room I stopped visiting. The lamp is still there. The bulb still works. I only need to walk back into that room, and somehow, the light comes on again. Think about it, friends. Have you ever caught a scent, maybe of rain falling on dry earth, and suddenly you are eight years old again, standing on your grandmother’s veranda? Have you ever heard an old song on the radio and felt your whole childhood come rushing back in one breath? That is not magic. That is your brain finding the right key for a door it had quietly locked. Of course, the article is honest enough to admit that scientists still do not fully understand everything. Sometimes the brain brings back memories that are not entirely true. It mixes things up. It adds a little color here, removes a little detail there. Human memory, unlike a fruit fly’s, is a complicated thing. But even with its flaws, I find this idea beautiful. Our memories are patient. They do not vanish just because we stop visiting them. They simply wait. I think of my old friends, the ones who can recall an event from twenty years ago as if it happened yesterday. I used to envy them, thinking their brains were simply built better than mine. Now I wonder if maybe they just keep walking back into those old rooms more often than I do. Maybe remembering is not only about a strong brain. Maybe it is about visiting. So here is what I plan to do, friends. I plan to walk old streets again. I plan to visit my old school gate, even if it now sells mobile phone covers instead of candy. I plan to play those old songs my father used to hum while shaving in the morning. I plan to open every quiet room in my mind, one by one, and let the light back in. Because somewhere in me, my mother is still calling me in for dinner. Somewhere in me, my school bell is still ringing. Somewhere in me, a boy is still running home before the streetlights come on. They are not gone. They were only sleeping. And tonight, God willing, I intend to wake every single one of them up.

For years, people uploaded photographs, videos and voice recordings believing they were sharing moments or building audiences. What many did not realise was that public material could become training data for artificial intelligence. Large AI systems may be developed using datasets containing personal information collected from websites and platforms. European regulators acknowledge that AI models can be trained on personal data, while the UK Information Commissioner says developers still need a lawful basis even when information comes from the open web. Training a general model and cloning a person are not identical. The first learns patterns across datasets; the second uses targeted samples to reproduce an identifiable voice or appearance. Yet both raise the same question: who authorised the use? A new proposition is emerging: instead of companies quietly collecting human material, people may knowingly license their faces, voices and movements for AI development or commercial digital replicas. In return, they could receive a one-time payment, royalties or a fee whenever their synthetic identity is used. This is beginning. Shutterstock operates a contributor fund that compensates contributors when material from its library is licensed for AI model development. SAG-AFTRA has negotiated protections for digital replicas. The voice platform Narrativ allows performers to set prices and advertising preferences for AI-generated versions of their voices, with payment for approved uses. At first glance, this is progress. People’s data has already been feeding digital systems, often without their knowledge, meaningful choice or financial benefit. A transparent marketplace could be fairer. At least individuals would know that a voice sample or facial scan was being collected. There would be a contract, and some value created from human identity could return to the human being. It could also create work. A person might license a recorded voice for educational narration in several languages. A model could approve a digital replica for advertisements without attending repeated shoots. People far from production centres might gain opportunities previously unavailable to them. But payment is not the same as protection. A person offered a modest amount may sign away far more than they understand. A broadly written agreement could allow a company to reproduce a face or voice for years, transfer it to other businesses, train additional models and place the replica in contexts the person would never endorse. The human receives one payment; the synthetic version may generate revenue indefinitely. Faces and voices are not ordinary digital products. A password can be changed after a breach. A face cannot. A cloned voice can imitate a family member, support a fraudulent request or manufacture a statement that was never made. The US Federal Trade Commission has warned that scammers can create convincing voice clones from short audio clips found online. The answer is not to ban every voluntary AI licence. It is to establish non-negotiable human protections. Consent must be specific, informed and renewable. Companies should state whether material will be used for training, identity replication or both. Agreements must define the product, audience, country, platform and time period. Permission for an educational video must not silently become permission for political advertising, gambling, medical claims, intimate material or religious messaging. Compensation should continue when the replica continues earning. Where a digital identity is repeatedly used, the person should receive royalties or per-use payments, not merely a small initial fee. Individuals should be able to set minimum prices, reject industries and see where their replica appeared. There must also be a genuine right to stop future use. Companies should delete source files, block new generations and notify third parties when a licence ends. Independent audits should test compliance. Strong security and penalties for leaks are essential because biometric material cannot simply be replaced. Every synthetic performance should carry visible disclosure and a machine-readable marker. The European Union’s transparency rules, applicable from 2 August 2026, require certain AI-generated or manipulated material to be identifiable and deepfakes to be disclosed. Labels will not prevent every abuse, but they help preserve the distinction between human action and machine-generated imitation. Children need stronger protection. Parents should not be able to permanently commercialise a child’s future identity. Any limited agreement should expire and require the individual’s fresh consent upon adulthood. Pakistan should treat this as urgent. As of 2026, the country still lacks a comprehensive enacted personal data protection law. This creates vulnerability just as international companies may seek diverse and comparatively inexpensive populations for AI training.  The greatest risk is not that humans will earn from AI. Fairly sharing value could correct years of silent extraction. The danger is that people will exchange permanent control for temporary payment. As AI advances, societies must recognise the face, voice and digital personality as extensions of the human person, not raw material waiting to be harvested. Without consent, continuing compensation, traceability and the power to say no, we may lose more than jobs or privacy. We may lose the trust that allows us to believe what we see, hear and recognise. AI should expand human possibility, not gradually replace human ownership of the self.

The poor nation has been treated like a naïve fool—or like a buffalo standing idly in Anarkali Bazaar, merely watching the spectacle—while the only person truly entitled to everything has been the one holding the stick. In such circumstances, lamenting that “our system has collapsed” amounts to nothing more than crocodile tears. May one dare ask these distinguished representatives of power: who is the greatest beneficiary of this collapsed system today? Surely, it is not that poor, powerless figure who constitutionally occupies the office of Prime Minister but is widely perceived as nothing more than a flatterer, a “Cherry Blossom,” or a bootlicker. Even the authority to reprimand one of his own unruly cabinet ministers has been taken away from him. Before the real power brokers, the poor man has no option except to bow or prostrate himself in deference. Yet even this symbolic arrangement seems intolerable to those who wield the stick. They ask: Why should this weak individual even occupy this ceremonial chair? If we are the real source of power, why are these sheep and goats sitting here at all? And who does the Eighteenth Constitutional Amendment think it is, making us dependent upon these provincial “sheep and goats”? If we require funds for “protecting the people,” why should we have to seek the approval of these so-called political parties? Why not simply dismantle the provinces, divide them into thirty pieces, and grind them down, just as our revered elder, the “true believer” of the Zia era, once envisioned—that politicians would come crawling to lick our feet with their tails tucked between their legs? But these are not our real issues, despite the crocodile tears now being shed over them. The system has produced poverty, unemployment, despair among the youth, and unbearable inflation. Our country is being humiliated across the world. The begging bowl has become our national symbol. Even our Prime Minister has admitted that whenever leaders of friendly countries see us, they think, “Here comes the beggar.” Our young people, exhausted by poverty and hunger, want nothing more than to leave this country. Many die while attempting the dangerous Dunki route to Europe, drowning in overcrowded boats. Is there any system here that offers them hope? You criticize the distribution of laptops. Although laptops are a useful technology, today the world has advanced from artificial intelligence to cutting-edge digital technologies. Compare our condition with that of India. Where are the modern industries that can provide educated and capable young people with respectable jobs and salaries that match their abilities? When will our society become not only modern in agriculture but also genuinely industrial? All this has resulted in the destruction of democracy, lawlessness, the systematic killing of merit, inequality, oppression, and the transformation of the country into a breeding ground for crime. Bribery, favoritism, and nepotism are everywhere. Why has our country repeatedly experienced martial law? Why is there neither respect for nor supremacy of the law? Why has our Parliament become nothing more than a rubber stamp for the powerful? Why does our judiciary continue to place boots above the Constitution? To what extent has our society been destroyed because of this, and who is truly responsible? The absence and destruction of these values have killed the spirit of tolerance and coexistence in our society. They have nurtured the snakes of religious hatred and made it impossible for ordinary people to live with dignity. This oppressive approach has created and nurtured countless forms of extremism. It has robbed our younger generations of their emotions and independent thinking. What is taught in our religious seminaries in the name of sanctity, and the hatred propagated there, as well as the fanaticism promoted in modern educational institutions under the labels of Pakistan Studies, theology, and religious education, leaves little room for disagreement. Anyone expressing an alternative viewpoint faces severe restrictions. It is not only conservative society that reacts harshly; the country’s blasphemy laws also loom threateningly over dissent. In such an environment, how can freedom of expression and intellectual liberty flourish? In such suffocating conditions, where is the space for fresh and critical thinking? In a society eaten away like wood infested with termites, how can any humane system possibly develop? Much of our society’s religious intolerance is a direct consequence of this repression. Both our media and our educational curriculum have been damaged by this suffocating approach. Without freedom of expression, how can an effective system of accountability based on critical inquiry ever emerge? How can social, political, and religious bullying, superstition, and corruption within society ever be eliminated? It has turned not only the powerful into tyrants but even an ordinary clerk into a little Pharaoh. The more authority someone possesses, the more they begin to think of themselves as a god. This culture of oppression has hollowed out our society from within. Our Chief Minister seems to believe she is all-powerful. Not only Maryam Nawaz, but every member of her cabinet—men and women alike—behaves like a dragon, intimidating not only the public but even members of their own provincial assembly. As for the members of the assembly themselves, they appear to consider hardly anyone other than themselves to be worthy human beings. (To Be Continued)