Opinion

A familiar and recurring phantom is once again haunting the political and intellectual horizon of Pakistan: the clamor for administrative redistribution and the carving out of new provinces. Whenever structural collapse, economic decay, and institutional governance reach their absolute nadir, the sanctums of power and the opaque enclaves of the establishment begin to chant a singular, predictable refrain. The root of all systemic malady, we are told, lies in the sheer geographical expanse of our existing provinces, and the ultimate panacea is the relentless division of the state. When one scrutinizes the subterranean motives, logical contradictions, and political expediencies governing this discourse, an uncomfortable truth starkly emerges. This persistent endeavor to shift the blame for chronic misgovernance and policy failure onto geographical boundaries, cultural entities, and ethnic identities is merely a resurrection of a time-worn colonial playbook—a deliberate diversion designed to distract the citizenry from real structural grievances while consolidating the apparatus of absolute control. History bears poignant witness to the reality that whenever ruling elites fail to mask their administrative ineptitude, systemic incompetence, and constitutional deviations, they seek refuge behind the seductive mirage of better governance, transforming the republic into an endless laboratory of reckless experimentation. One is compelled to ask: does any sound mind truly accept the medical wisdom of amputating a limb simply because a malignant ulcer has taken root in the arm? Are the pathologies of governance so superficial that merely redrawing cartographic lines will spontaneously engender distributive justice, institutional merit, the rule of law, and administrative transparency? A careful, unvarnished reading of pre-partition South Asian history reveals that this formula of administrative fragmentation was never a native or democratic innovation. Rather, it was a tested and ruthless instrument of British imperialism, rooted entirely in the cynical philosophy of “Divide and Rule.” In October 1905, when Lord Curzon partitioned the sprawling province of Bengal under the alluring and deceptive banner of administrative efficiency, improved governance, and better public service delivery, the official justification was identical to today’s rhetoric: that managing such a vast demographic mass from a single center was untenable. Yet history dealt a merciless blow to that colonial experiment. The people of Bengal rightly perceived the partition as a direct, existential assault on their linguistic, cultural, and political integrity, rising in fierce and unyielding resistance. Ultimately, the imperial master was forced into an ignominious retreat, revoking the partition of Bengal in 1911. That historical episode remains an enduring monument and a stark warning to contemporary rulers who imagine they can trifle with the collective historical memory, cultural affinity, and geographical unity of a populace under the intoxicating influence of unchecked power. From the very inception of Pakistan, the ruling classes consistently spurned the genuine principles of cooperative federalism, choosing instead to enshrine coercive and authoritarian centralism as the ultimate guarantee of their survival. During the formative decades of the republic, when the delicate question of distributing democratic rights among diverse constituent units arose, the dominant factions lacked the political maturity required for a pluralistic state. Instead, they forced all the western provinces and states into an unnatural straitjacket known as the “One Unit” scheme. That dark chapter of authoritarian engineering laid bare the callous indifference of the ruling elite toward the historical identities and rich diversity of the people, subjugating all societal bonds to the preservation of concentrated power. When that forced administrative edifice eventually fractured under the weight of unrelenting public resistance, the four-province federal structure was reluctantly conceded. Yet the true spirit of federalism was never allowed to breathe. The constitutional imperatives of provincial autonomy were systematically subverted, resources were inequitably distributed, and the unquenchable thirst for hegemony converted the federation into a fragile, crisis-ridden entity perpetually at war with its own constituent parts. Renowned scholars and theorists of public administration and cooperative federalism universally agree that when any sub-national unit exceeds optimal parameters in territory and population, it inevitably succumbs to bureaucratic inertia and administrative paralysis. According to global academic consensus, effective public service delivery demands a balanced proportional equilibrium between geography and demography, ensuring that the writ of the state and essential services penetrate even the most peripheral districts. However, the high-performing federal democracies of the world—such as the United States, Canada, Australia, or Germany—do not achieve excellence in governance merely because their constituent units happen to be geographically compact. They succeed because they rigorously enforce the foundational principle of **Subsidiarity**, which dictates that governance decisions must always be executed at the lowest possible tier capable of addressing them, rather than being arrogated by a distant center or provincial capital. Conversely, the powerful elite who orchestrate policy from behind the veil in Pakistan remain profoundly detached from this philosophical prerequisite. The core issue here is not the mere physical size of a province; it is the centralization of coercive power, deep-seated fiscal distortions, and a bankrupt political intent. In a country like Pakistan, where provinces already depend abjectly on federal transfers through the National Finance Commission (NFC) Award, attempting to carve out new provinces without addressing the fundamentals of fiscal federalism will only exponentially multiply the economic burden. If one merely replicates provincial capitals, bloated cabinets, and superfluous administrative secretariats without dismantling the underlying corruption, nepotism, and systemic incompetence, the public will find no relief from their miseries. Instead, the state will be pushed deeper into fiscal insolvency and bureaucratic suffocation. This brings us to the most fundamental and inescapable question: if four provinces were to be multiplied into eight, sixteen, or thirty-six administrative units tomorrow, would traditional political parties magically vanish? Would the actors occupying the corridors of power in these new provinces descend from another planet, or would they simply be the identical political dynasties and entrenched interest groups of the Pakistan Peoples Party, the Pakistan Muslim League, or Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf donning new nameplates? When the foundational structural architecture, the prevailing political culture, and the patronage networks of the elite remain utterly unaltered, how can the mere shifting of administrative borders dissolve the cancer of corruption, the

In the long chronicle of human affairs, few pursuits have more clearly revealed the character of a people than the search for good governance. Our predecessors, whether the wise administrators of earlier ages or those who laid the foundations of our own constitutional order, grasped this truth with a seriousness that still commands reflection. They understood that the art of governing is not a mere technique of power, but a moral undertaking. Authority, they held, is a trust held on behalf of the community, to be discharged with restraint, justice, and an eye to the welfare of generations yet unborn. Their systems, though shaped by the limitations of their times, were animated by principles of accountability, the supremacy of law over personal will, and the conviction that public office is a burden rather than a prize. Courts were expected to stand as impartial arbiters; civil servants were trained to place duty above favour; and rulers, at their best, recognised that their legitimacy rested upon the consent and confidence of the governed. We received from them a framework of institutions—representative assemblies, independent judiciaries, administrative services, and a body of laws intended to curb arbitrary power. These were not perfect creations, yet they embodied an aspiration toward order tempered by fairness. Public life retained, for considerable periods, a measure of dignity. Corruption existed, as it has in every age, but it was more often regarded as a shameful departure from the norm rather than an accepted condition of advancement. The methods of our predecessors rested upon a shared moral vocabulary; honour in public dealing, frugality in the use of common resources, and a sense that the strong bore a particular responsibility toward the weak. Where, then, do we stand today when measured against that inheritance? The forms of good governance remain visible—constitutions are still sworn to, elections are still held, statutes continue to be enacted—yet the substance has in many places grown thin. Trust between the people and the state appears to be fading. Justice is frequently perceived as uneven, accessible more readily to those of means or influence than to the ordinary person. Administrative machinery, designed to serve, is too often entangled in delay, patronage, and self-interest. Political discourse has become coarse and transactional, with loyalty to party or person frequently eclipsing loyalty to principle or the public good. The gap between proclaimed ideals and daily practice has widened, leaving many citizens disillusioned and inclined to withdraw from civic responsibility altogether. If failure must be acknowledged—and candour requires that it should—the causes are several and interwoven. Foremost among them is a progressive weakening of personal character in public life. Ambition has too often been severed from a corresponding sense of duty. The pursuit of power and material advantage has overshadowed the older ideal of service. Political culture has drifted toward clientelism, wherein positions and favours are distributed as rewards rather than earned through merit. Institutions that ought to act as checks upon excess have themselves become vulnerable to capture, their independence eroded by pressure, inducement, or the quiet fear of consequence. Education, which should have formed citizens capable of discerning right from expedient, has frequently neglected the cultivation of ethical judgement in favour of technical competence or mere qualification. Economic pressures and rapid social change have compounded these weaknesses, fostering a climate in which short-term gain appears more urgent than long-term integrity. Over all has settled a collective habit of blame; each segment of society is ready to indict the others while absolving itself. Have we, then, discharged our responsibilities as individuals, as institutions, and as a nation? The record is sobering. As individuals, many of us have grown content to lament the state of affairs while participating, in small ways or large, in the very practices we condemn—evading obligations, seeking special treatment, remaining silent when honesty would exact a cost. Institutions have too often placed institutional survival or the interests of their leaders above the purpose for which they were created. In prima facia, courts drag their feet, legislatures focus on partisan gain, and administrative bodies forget about the citizens they’re meant to serve. As a nation, we have allowed divisions of interest, region, and allegiance to weaken the sense of a shared destiny. Necessary reforms have been postponed; uncomfortable truths have been left unspoken; and the common good has been subordinated to immediate political calculation. Yet history is not an irreversible descent. Peoples have recovered from moral and administrative decline when they recovered first the will to examine themselves without illusion. Correction of direction remains possible, though it will demand more than rhetoric or the rearrangement of outward forms. It begins with the recovery of personal integrity in ordinary dealings, for no system can long remain honest if those who operate it and those who live under it are themselves careless of truth. It requires institutions to reclaim their independence and to remember that their authority derives from the public trust, not from the favour of transient power. It calls for a renewed national conversation about the ends of government—not merely the distribution of resources or the winning of elections, but the creation of conditions in which citizens may live with dignity, security, and hope. Education must once more address the formation of character as seriously as the acquisition of skill. Civic engagement must cease to be regarded as the province of a few and become again the ordinary duty of many. The task is arduous and will meet resistance from those who profit by the present disorder. Yet the alternative is a continuing erosion of confidence, a further coarsening of public life, and the gradual loss of that cohesion without which no society can endure. Our predecessors bequeathed us not a completed structure but a charge and an example. Whether we prove equal to that charge depends upon choices that are still ours to make. If we summon the courage to prefer principle to expediency, duty to advantage, and the long view to the immediate reward, the

“Shall we put an end to the human race; or shall mankind renounce war?”— Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein, The Russell–Einstein Manifesto, 1955 War hysteria sweeping the world shows nothing more than absolute insanity on the part of all belligerent parties. Humanity can explore distant planets, communicate across continents within seconds and build machines capable of imitating human intelligence, yet it still appears incapable of resolving disputes without bombing cities, starving populations and producing generations of traumatised children. There are people struggling with poverty, food shortages, unemployment, high inflation, disease and homelessness. Then there are their so-called leaders—some elected, some imposed, some in uniform and others protected by manufactured democratic legitimacy—who remain obsessed with gunfire, drones, missiles, nuclear warheads and weapons of mass destruction. This is not leadership. It is organised madness presented as patriotism. Look at Gaza. Nearly 1.9 million of its 2.1 million inhabitants remain displaced, many of them repeatedly, while restrictions and operational constraints continue to obstruct humanitarian relief. Families are pushed from one devastated neighbourhood to another, carrying whatever they can salvage. For them, “strategic operations” mean ruined homes, unsafe water, inadequate food, fractured hospitals and children learning the geography of survival before they learn the alphabet. Look at Ukraine. During the first six months of 2026, the United Nations verified 1,396 civilian deaths and 7,978 injuries—a 37 per cent increase over the corresponding period of 2025. June recorded the highest monthly civilian casualty total since April 2022. Yet the war continues to be discussed through maps, territorial percentages and weapon packages, as though the dead were merely inconvenient entries in a military balance sheet. Look at Sudan, where a contest for power has become a war against the population itself. About 19.5 million people face acute hunger, five million are at emergency levels and an estimated 825,000 children under five are expected to suffer acute malnutrition during 2026. Several areas remain at risk of famine while humanitarian agencies struggle for access and resources. The world can finance bullets that arrive on time, but food and medicine are eternally delayed. Now look at the ever-expanding Middle Eastern conflict. What began as confrontation involving Israel, the United States and Iran has steadily drawn other states into its orbit. The latest joint military strikes by the United States and Saudi Arabia against Iran-aligned armed groups operating in Iraq demonstrate how quickly regional conflicts acquire new participants and new frontlines. Iraq, itself struggling to preserve its sovereignty and internal stability, has once again become a battleground for rival powers. Every new military operation is justified as retaliation or deterrence, yet each one merely widens the geography of destruction and pushes peace still further beyond reach. The consequences are not confined to the combatants. Energy infrastructure, shipping routes and humanitarian supply corridors remain vulnerable, while the risks of slower global growth, renewed inflation and economic instability continue to rise. Once again, decisions taken in heavily guarded capitals are paid for by ordinary families thousands of kilometres away. That is the cruel arithmetic of modern warfare. The latest strikes in Iraq also expose another dangerous reality. Countries that once claimed merely to support one side diplomatically are now becoming direct military participants. Every additional state entering the conflict reduces the space for negotiation while increasing the possibility of miscalculation. History repeatedly demonstrates that wars rarely remain confined within the boundaries imagined by those who initiate them. They expand geographically, economically and morally, dragging into their vortex nations and populations that neither sought nor desired confrontation. A missile is fired in the Middle East and transport and electricity can become more expensive in Pakistan. A shipping route is blocked and food prices rise in poor importing countries. Oil installations are attacked and workers whose wages were already inadequate are advised to “adjust” their household budgets. The poor neither declare wars nor negotiate ceasefires. They merely finance wars through taxes, inflation and deprivation—and then provide their bodies. The scale of this moral collapse is evident from global priorities. Military expenditure reached a record US$2.887 trillion in 2025, marking the eleventh consecutive annual increase. In the same world, approximately 645 million people faced hunger during 2025 and around 2.7 billion could not afford a healthy diet. There is no global shortage of money. There is a shortage of conscience, political courage and human decency. Governments insist that military expenditure ensures security. Security for whom? What security does a mother possess when she cannot feed her children? What security is enjoyed by an unemployed graduate, a patient unable to afford medicine or a farmer crushed by fuel and fertiliser prices? Of what use are supersonic aircraft to citizens living without clean water, functioning schools or basic healthcare? Even more frightening is the renewed worship of nuclear weapons. At the beginning of 2026, the world possessed an estimated 12,187 nuclear warheads. About 9,745 were held in military stockpiles for possible use, while between 2,100 and 2,200 deployed warheads remained on high operational alert. Leaders speak of deterrence, escalation ladders and tactical nuclear options as though they were discussing pieces on a chessboard rather than devices capable of extinguishing cities and contaminating generations. The language of war has also been deliberately sanitised. Bombing becomes an “operation”; dead civilians become “collateral damage”; starvation becomes “food insecurity”; demolished homes become “infrastructure losses”; and children torn apart by explosives become “unintended consequences.” Such expressions do not explain reality. They hide it. They allow those ordering violence to sleep peacefully while others search for their loved ones through rubble. Responsibility in every conflict is not necessarily equal. International law distinguishes aggression from self-defence, occupation from resistance and military targets from civilians. But no invocation of history, religion, national security or territorial ambition can justify treating innocent human suffering as politically useful or morally irrelevant. Every party that deliberately attacks civilians, blocks essential relief, uses starvation as leverage or prolongs war for domestic political survival must be held accountable. Citizens must also confront their own complicity. War hysteria cannot survive without

Kashmiris including men, women, youth and children who underwent the second longest lockdown, complete curfew, for a pretty long time, are observing it as the second darkest day in their history on August 05, 2026. On August 05, 2019, the Indian Government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi had quite unexpectedly, illegally and unilaterally scrapped the special status of Jammu and Kashmir under Article 370 of the Indian Constitution making it an integral part of the country. These measures had ended the occupied territory’s limited autonomy and sought to alter the internationally recognized disputed status of Jammu and Kashmir in blatant violation of the United Nations Security Council resolutions and international law. The second darkest day in Kashmiris’ history is now better known and is observed every year on August 05 as Youm-e-Istehsal (Day of Exploitation). The observance of Youm-e-Istehsal not only serves as a reminder of the continued sufferings of the Kashmiri people but also reaffirms Pakistan’s unflinching solidarity with their just struggle for the realization of their right of self-determination. Pakistan’s civil and military leadership has all along been extending moral, diplomatic and political support to the Kashmiris in their just and indigenous freedom struggle. Kashmiris on both sides of the Line of Control (LoC), around the world as well as the Pakistan government and the people are observing yet another Youm-e-Istehsal on August 05, 2026 to mark the 7 years of quite regretful, deplorable Indian siege of its illegally occupied Jammu and Kashmir valley and denying the Kashmiris their birth right of self-determination in accordance with the UN Security Council resolutions. Needless to mention here that Kashmir conflict continues to remain as perhaps the oldest lingering and unresolved international dispute dating back to 1947. It also continues to be recognized by the world body, the United Nations, as an issue requiring peaceful settlement in accordance with its Security Council resolutions and the wishes of the Kashmiri people who were engaged in one of the longest unarmed struggles for freedom from the Indian shackles. Kashmiris in the occupied valley, on both sides of the Line of Control, in the world over are observing August 5, 2026 as the second darkest day of their history. The first one being observed every year on October 27 is to continue marking their protest and agitation against illegal and forcible occupation of their territory by India on this day in 1947 after its last Dogra ruler Maharaja Hari Singh, one of as many as 565 princely states, had an Instrument of Accession signed in Delhi, had opted to join India in accordance with the provisions of the Sub-Continent Partition Plan against the wishes and aspirations of the valley residents. Following this ugliest development, India had airlifted its security forces into the occupied territory. Since August 05, 2019, India has accelerated its efforts for consolidating its control over its Illegally Occupied Jammu and Kashmir (IIOJK) through a series of political, legal, and administrative measures. The Indian Government was also making attempts, which are a great source of concern for everybody, to engineer demographic changes in its occupied territory through the issuance of forged domicile certificates to non-Kashmiris, mainly Hindus, changing the land ownership laws, and electoral delimitation measures which were designed to arbitrarily alter the region’s demographic and political landscape. There were reports that in pursuance of Indian PM Narendra Modi’s devilish intentions of promoting Hindutva more than 350,000 fake and forged domicile certificates have been issued to non-Kashmiris (Hindus) enabling them to settle in the occupying territory since August 05, 2029. These measures, quite obviously, were a crude attempt to dilute the identity of the indigenous Kashmiri population, undermining their political representation, and creating irreversible changes to the disputed territory in flagrant violation of all international laws and the Fourth Geneva Convention. The years following August 5, 2019, have also witnessed a worsening and quite alarming human rights situation in IIOJK. Reports of arbitrary detentions, extrajudicial killings, enforced disappearances, custodial torture, women’s rapes, restrictions on freedom of expression and peaceful assembly, and systematic curbs on media freedom continue to surface and emerge frequently. Observance of another Youm-e-Istehsal on August 05, 2026 as such is not only a painful and tragic commemoration of August 05, 2019 events but also a reminder of the ongoing challenges being faced by the Kashmiris but will also highlight the urgent and dire need for the international community to take cognizance of the situation in IIOJK and exert pressure on India to respect international law and human rights and firmly support the efforts aiming at achieving a just and peaceful resolution of the Jammu and Kashmir dispute. Observance of the Youm-e-Istehsal by the government and the people of Pakistan is also a renewed commitment of Pakistan to continue extending political, diplomatic and moral support to the Kashmiris until they are enabled to exercise their inalienable right of self-determination in accordance with the UN Security Council resolutions. Kashmiris all over the world earnestly believe that their observance of the darkest days on August 5 and October 27 besides other protests and rallies in occupied territory and elsewhere will sooner or later awake the sleeping conscience of the international community and they will be getting their birth right of self-determination in accordance with UN Security Council resolutions and they will be free to either stay with India or join Pakistan. They are hopeful that this will happen but are unable to say surely as to when this is going to happen.

When studying the rise and fall of civilizations, an unyielding truth emerges: nations are shaped not by material wealth or vast geography, but by the intellectual vitality of their institutions. When an educational system loses its soul, and universities become mere factories for paper credentials, the collective vision of an entire society falls into a colonial illusion. Pakistan’s contemporary higher education landscape bears out this bitter reality. For decades, our public universities have remained bound to an archaic, bureaucratic framework forged under nineteenth-century colonial imperatives. Designed to cultivate compliance rather than critical thought, this apparatus has produced storehouses of financial distress, administrative stagnation, political interference, and repetitive, sterile theses generated solely for promotion. Where fearless intellectual discourse should thrive, there settles instead the suffocating dust of sycophancy. Research has ceased to be an endeavor to solve society’s pressing crises, reduced instead to filling journal pages to tick administrative boxes. Yet within the deep shadows of this stagnation—where despair threatens every horizon—the sudden appearance of an institution where the austere mountain winds shelter the burning torches of intellect, resolve, and scientific courage transforms from an institutional victory into an intellectual miracle. Cradled by the towering pines of Murree, Kohsar University, steered by the visionary and globally acclaimed leadership of its Vice Chancellor, Professor Dr. Rafia Mumtaz, stands as a brilliant embodiment of this living reality. The trajectory of any institution is invariably determined by the intellectual breadth and moral courage of its leadership. Professor Dr. Rafia Mumtaz’s academic journey serves as a luminous testament to the fact that when learning transcends rote recitation and is forged in the crucible of international standards, it possesses the power to alter a region’s destiny. From the advanced technological ecosystem of NUST to a rigorous Ph.D. and post-doctoral research tenure at the University of Surrey in the United Kingdom, her trajectory ensures that her framework remains untouched by the narrow confines of conventional university systems. Instead, it is thoroughly attuned to cutting-edge scientific paradigms and the demands of global academia. When a scholar steeped in artificial intelligence, the Internet of Things, data analytics, and modern digital architecture assumes the leadership of a nascent university, she shatters the slow, sclerotic barriers of red tape with a single stroke, transforming the institution from a sluggish office into a dynamic, antifragile intellectual unit. Kohsar University’s initial tragedy lay in its location within a complex terrain where tourism, mountain ecology, and severe winters impose heavy administrative demands. Yet through seasoned judgment, Dr. Rafia Mumtaz converted this geographical limitation into her greatest asset. She established the profound truth that sincerity of intent and granite-like resolve can shatter metropolitan monopolies, erecting towering beacons of learning in remote mountain tracts whose radiance illuminates the entire national academic sphere. The foundational flaw of Pakistan’s public universities has always been the disconnect between curricula and grassroots economic realities. Conventional institutions have rarely bothered to align their structures with shifting market demands. Kohsar University has initiated a quiet, resolute awakening against this obsolete tradition. Here, disciplines such as Tourism, Hospitality, Forestry, and Environmental Sciences are not treated as static textbook chapters; they are integrated directly into national policy formulation, rigorous fieldwork, and sustainable development models. As a newly established public university, the institution has confronted severe financial constraints, leading to unavoidable delays in expanding modern computer laboratories. Yet these structural hurdles never impeded its overarching resolve. In April 2026, leveraging its routine development planning and extremely limited resources, the university successfully procured advanced computer systems, upgraded its laboratories, and opened new frontiers for empirical scientific research. Within a remarkably brief span, Kohsar University’s Computer Science students delivered an exceptional performance at the prestigious PINTECH Expo, competing against more than 75 renowned universities across Punjab during the 2023 and 2025 exhibitions to secure the runner-up position. This is undeniable proof that a nascent, resource-deprived public university possesses the fierce capability to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the country’s premier institutions. In the same vein of triumph, students excelled across competitive programs of the Prime Minister’s Youth Initiative, engaged with Stanford-associated online training frameworks, and claimed top honors in provincial academic competitions. Behind these crowning achievements lie no bloated budgets, but sheer grit, towering vision, and the unyielding talent of regional youth. Muree and its surrounding landscapes presently stand at a perilous crossroads regarding climate change. Faced with melting glaciers, unchecked tourism, and rapid deforestation, Kohsar University engineered an immediate, proactive response. It activated its research networks, shifting students and researchers away from the desolation of conventional job-hunting toward the creation of practical scientific projects aimed at steering the local economy toward digital and eco-friendly paths. This transformation signals that education has reclaimed its status as humanity’s primary instrument for survival. These triumphs give rise to an urgent question: if a brand-new university can achieve such rapid feats amidst profound scarcity, what heights could its research capacity reach with adequate governmental patronage? Emerging universities in Punjab should no longer be viewed as financial liabilities; rather, they must be recognized as vital engines driving regional development and digital economies. For thousands of brilliant, underprivileged young minds across Murree, Kohsar University represents their sole, robust gateway to quality higher education. Materially and financially strengthening this institution is synonymous with empowering an entire region. The pulsing heart of this intellectual flight is Kohsar University’s state-of-the-art Computer Science Department and its high-tech computer laboratories, outfitted to meet uncompromising international standards. In twenty-first-century global communications, digital infrastructure serves as the central nervous system of any academic enterprise. Dr. Rafia Mumtaz’s scientific background and technical mastery have successfully converted this department into a cutting-edge incubation hub. When students within these mist-veiled heights sit before screens to master complex algorithms, IoT systems, cloud computing, and software development, the sight heralds a new dawn: Pakistan’s bright digital future shines with equal brilliance from these majestic mountain peaks. These laboratories stand as indisputable evidence that when scarcity is met with transparent priorities and unwavering resolve, world-class institutions capable of competing globally can be born despite meager state

For the Muslim world, and increasingly for Europe, recent developments have become both a matter of interest and concern. Reports indicate that around 60,000 young people from the Muslim-majority country of Morocco entered Spain. Those who have seen the videos circulating on social media can appreciate the scale of the event. Large groups of young people can be seen running toward the border, storming barriers, arriving in overcrowded boats, climbing over high fences, and breaking through metal barricades in an effort to reach Spanish territory. According to reports, these migrants entered the Spanish enclave of Ceuta in North Africa. Their objective was neither invasion nor occupation but rather the pursuit of a better future and improved employment opportunities. Poverty and unemployment in their home country have driven them to seek a new life in Europe. Thousands crossed the sea and border fences together, hoping that their sheer numbers would overwhelm security forces and make it impossible to stop them. Reports also suggest that Spain’s border security had temporary weaknesses at the time. In addition, Spanish courts had recently issued relatively lenient rulings regarding migrants, including granting legal status to nearly 500,000 people who had previously entered the country illegally. The U.S. State Department criticized Spain over what it viewed as policies that encouraged illegal migration. Although Spanish border security forces made considerable efforts to stop the influx, media reports stated that approximately 57 people lost their lives during the crossings. Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez made an emergency visit to Ceuta to oversee the government’s response. Authorities reportedly succeeded in returning about 37,000 of the 60,000 migrants to Morocco, but locating and dealing with the remaining 23,000 became a significant issue, raising concerns across Europe. France, Italy, Germany, and other European countries urged Spain to strengthen its border controls. The United States also reacted strongly, drawing comparisons with its own migration challenges at the Mexican border. President Donald Trump cited the incident as proof that constructing a border wall had been the right decision, arguing that without it the United States might have faced a similar situation. Europe’s concern is understandable because of the European Union’s system of open internal borders. Once migrants enter one EU country, they may be able to move onward to others with relatively few obstacles. Spain has long been regarded as one of Europe’s more immigration-friendly countries. I once asked a diplomat friend which European country was the easiest for obtaining a visa, and without hesitation he replied, “Spain.” Morocco is a friendly Muslim nation led by King Mohammed VI, who is widely respected and holds considerable influence. It also has an elected government headed by Prime Minister Aziz Akhannouch. This raises an important question: why have Muslim countries not become prosperous and developed enough to attract people from non-Muslim nations rather than losing their own citizens? The same question applies to Pakistan. Our country was created after immense sacrifices, with the vision of establishing a model Islamic state. Millions were displaced and countless lives were lost during Partition in 1947. At that time, Muslims migrated to Pakistan with great enthusiasm and hope. Today, however, many Pakistanis display the same determination to leave the country and settle in Europe. In pursuing this dream, many become victims of human traffickers, while others lose their lives attempting dangerous sea crossings. When the bodies of these young people are returned to their families, it causes unimaginable grief, yet the desire to seek a better future abroad remains as strong as ever. This leads to another important question: why have we failed to make our own countries places of prosperity, freedom, human dignity, and compassion—qualities that many people associate with Western societies today? Why are we unable to provide our citizens with the same respect for human rights and personal freedoms? Religious leaders often criticize the West, condemning its culture and values. They describe Western civilization as morally corrupt and frequently quote verses predicting its eventual decline: “Your civilization will destroy itself with its own dagger.” “A nest built upon a fragile branch cannot endure.” Ironically, many Western societies today fear what they describe as an “Islamic influx.” They argue that some migrants misuse religious freedom, demand the implementation of Islamic law, campaign over issues such as the hijab, and challenge local cultural norms. Some also claim that immigration has contributed to increases in crimes such as child abuse and other offenses. Whether these concerns are justified or exaggerated remains a matter of public debate, but it is undeniable that immigration has become a politically sensitive issue across Europe. Public pressure is mounting on European governments to tighten immigration policies. Western intellectuals also pose a difficult question: if Muslims believe they possess the final divine revelation, a complete way of life, and a preserved holy scripture, why have they not transformed their own societies into places where their young people would choose to remain instead of risking everything to migrate to Europe? Traditional Islamic teachings have long distinguished between the Dar al-Islam (the abode of Islam or peace) and lands outside Islamic rule, historically described in classical jurisprudence by terms such as Dar al-Harb (the abode of war). Classical legal literature contains extensive discussions on these concepts and, in certain historical contexts, encouraged Muslims to migrate to Muslim lands whenever possible. Yet many young Muslims today seem unfamiliar with these classical debates, and many contemporary religious scholars appear reluctant to discuss them in detail, perhaps because the realities of the modern world differ significantly from the historical circumstances in which those rulings were developed.

Development is the process of creating lasting improvements in the lives of people by addressing their genuine social, economic, and public needs and not merely constructing new infrastructure, completing projects, impressive photographs, or utilising the allocated public funds. In a true sense, the real measure of development is whether the real problem has been solved, and whether the interventions have created sustainable public value and an evident change in social or economic conditions of the society. A project should begin with a clearly defined problem and public need. Its vision, goals, activities, and measurable indicators should follow the problem. In professional project management practices, all these elements are recorded in the planning and design phase. In Pakistan, we have mastered the art of reporting these elements without achieving any meaningful results. Imagine a public park surrounded by a steel fence. Children and families using the park are visible from the road. If funds are available and privacy is the genuine concern, the executing agency can add steel sheets, plant trees, or use temporary screens. Each solution is inexpensive and retains the existing structure. However, if the focus is primarily on expenditure, the agency may remove the functioning fence and replace it with a new brick wall. This may have a longer life, but is not necessarily the most economical or appropriate solution. Considering Pakistan’s fragile economic outlook, many major development projects are financed through foreign loans. Such funds are eventually repaid, often with interest. Money spent on an unnecessary intervention is no longer available for genuine public need. This is a recurring weakness in Pakistan, where success is measured by the money spent, not by the effectiveness of the solution. This recalls Peter Drucker’s observation. “There is nothing so useless as doing efficiently that which should not be done at all.” The continued existence of infrastructure built during the Mughal and British periods is in contrast with contemporary projects, which deteriorate within years. This might be a romantic comparison, influenced by the fact that we see only the structures that survived, but durability and long-term public value are not central to our project culture. The same mindset is evident in urban beautification schemes. Imagine a local government installs a 15-foot-high statue. The project is indeed beautiful and will produce attractive photographs for official reports, but if the same statue is mounted on thoughtfully designed columns, the shaded seating can be utilised by daily wage workers who gather at bus stops, on footpaths, and in other public spaces because no designated facility is available. This is not an encroachment issue, but a planning failure. Planners and designers should use one intervention to achieve multiple objectives. Imagine a decades-old roundabout, with a working fountain surrounded by grass. During hot afternoons, labourers and children visit the site to cool themselves in the fountain’s spray. Officials might consider this behaviour undesirable and wish to block access. They can barricade it through small trees or shrubs, but the typical response will be to uproot the entire structure, construct a new fountain, and replace the grass with artificial green carpet. The public behaviour may reflect the unavailability of affordable recreational areas or public bathing facilities. Yet, the official solution destroys a functioning public asset, removes a natural green area, and spends substantial funds without addressing the underlying need. Needs assessment appears in project reports, but they are rarely conducted with sufficient depth. Imagine a posh housing society, where tubewells were eventually replaced by private borewells. Residents have spent a considerable amount to arrange their own water supply. Now, if any government agency has received funds for water distribution, they should spend it in areas where the people are still digging borewells or have no access to clean drinking water. However, again the typical response will be to spend millions in this posh area, where households have already arranged their own water supply. The fall of the water table is the real problem, which in this case will persist after spending millions. Pakistan has an extensive planning structure, which includes the federal and provincial bodies, planning departments in government organizations, consultants, and project management units. In 2025-26 alone, the National Economic Council approved the national development portfolio of 4.224 trillion. Such substantial expenditure should produce visible and lasting improvement in people live. The problem, therefore, is not insufficient funding, but how projects are identified, designed, approved, and evaluated. The same problem is visible in education, health, and administrative projects. Consider a basic health unit or education facility with a leaking roof. The available funds should be directed to fix the roof. However, funds are allocated to boundary wall, new signage, and in some cases, for an entirely new building. Similarly, for decade, government departments are trying to digitise their operations. For a quick solution, these departments procure specialised softwares, which has high licensing costs, and inadequate training mechanisms. After years of implementation, enforcement, and expenditure, the same departments revert to paper files or to a new software. The first step should be, to strengthen the capacity of all relevant staff in problem identification and root cause analysis. Every project initiation document should clearly identify the problem, public need, examine alternatives, and link the proposed intervention to public value. These elements should always be in quantifiable terms. Moreover, the project indicators should measure the extent to which the problem is solved and the post-completion evaluation should validate the visualized public benefits. Institutions move energetically, spend heavily, and report extensively, but bypass the original problem. Pakistan does not simply need more projects; it needs projects to solve problems; it needs interventions that respond to genuine needs, preserve what already works, and provide sustainable public value. The true measure should not be the amount spent but the resolution of the problem. Unless problem-solving becomes central to planning and evaluation, fund utilisation will continue to be mistaken for development and detour away from progress we seek. Writers  Dr. Sikandar Bilal Khattak  Academician with Research Interest in Sustainable Systems Can be

Educational debates in Pakistan usually begin with schools and end with universities. Somewhere in between lies a vast public college network that has quietly undergone a transformation without receiving the reforms necessary to sustain it. For decades, colleges were viewed merely as institutions imparting Intermediate education. That perception is now obsolete. Government colleges across Pakistan award four-year BS degrees, supervise undergraduate research, implement semester systems, and produce graduates completing sixteen years of education. They have become institutions of higher education in every meaningful sense except in the standards by which they recruit, promote and evaluate their faculty. The real crisis begins not when institutions disappear but when they continue to exist while quietly abandoning the purpose they were meant to serve. Pakistan’s college education system increasingly reflects this uncomfortable reality. Buildings stand, classrooms remain occupied, salaries are paid and degrees continue to be awarded, yet the intellectual purpose that ought to define higher education is steadily weakening. The system continues to function, but it no longer asks whether it is producing scholars, researchers and critical thinkers or merely issuing degrees. This contradiction is not merely administrative. It is national. Countries do not build knowledge economies simply by increasing enrolment or opening new campuses. They do so by ensuring that those entrusted with educating the next generation possess the intellectual depth, scholarly discipline and professional integrity demanded by higher education. Pakistan has expanded the responsibilities of its colleges without fundamentally reforming the standards governing those who teach in them. It is this mismatch between expanding responsibilities and stagnant reforms that explains much of the present crisis. History offers repeated warnings against confusing continuity with progress. Great civilisations have seldom been defeated by ignorance alone; far more often, they have been weakened by their refusal to reform. Ancient Troy believed its mighty walls guaranteed safety until destruction entered concealed within the famous wooden horse. Institutions, too, often collapse not because external forces overwhelm them but because internal weaknesses become too familiar to recognise. Pakistan’s colleges face a similar danger. The greatest threat is not inadequate infrastructure or declining enrolment. It is the quiet normalisation of standards that no longer correspond with the responsibilities these institutions now carry. Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in faculty recruitment. Every education system is ultimately only as strong as the people it appoints to teach. Laboratories, libraries and curricula matter, but they cannot compensate for weak academic recruitment. A nation’s classrooms reflect the intellectual standards it establishes at the point of entry into the profession. Countries that consistently perform well in higher education understand this principle with remarkable clarity. Finland recruits teachers from among its highest-performing graduates and treats teaching as one of the country’s most competitive professions. Singapore invests heavily in teacher selection, structured professional development and continuous evaluation throughout an educator’s career. South Korea subjects aspiring academics to rigorous competition, while Germany closely links academic progression with scholarly achievement and research productivity. These countries differ in culture, politics and economic history, yet they share one conviction that higher education depends first and foremost upon the quality of its faculty. Pakistan, regrettably, often operates on a different assumption. Recruitment is frequently treated as the culmination of academic achievement rather than its beginning. A lecturer appointed with only a sixteen years education may spend an entire career within the same system without acquiring higher qualifications or contributing substantially to research, yet still retire after holding senior academic positions carrying the titles of Associate Professor or Professor. Such a framework might have appeared understandable when colleges were primarily institutions for Intermediate education. It becomes increasingly indefensible once those same institutions award undergraduate degrees equivalent to those offered by universities. Academic titles should signify scholarly accomplishment rather than the mere passage of time. Across the world, the designation of Professor represents sustained intellectual contribution, recognised research, advanced qualifications and academic leadership. When promotion depends overwhelmingly upon seniority rather than scholarship, titles gradually lose their meaning. The loss is not symbolic alone. It diminishes public confidence in higher education itself. This is not an argument against experience. Experience remains indispensable in teaching. A seasoned educator often possesses insights that no newly qualified academic can immediately acquire. Classrooms are enriched by years of interaction with students, evolving pedagogical techniques and practical wisdom accumulated over decades. Experience, however, should complement scholarship, not replace it. Knowledge no longer remains static for an entire career. Disciplines evolve at astonishing speed. Artificial Intelligence is reshaping linguistics, medicine, engineering, law and the humanities alike. Climate science has transformed environmental studies. Digital humanities have altered literary scholarship. Advances in neuroscience continue redefining educational psychology. A qualification earned thirty years ago, valuable though it remains, cannot alone certify mastery over fields that have changed beyond recognition. Medicine provides an obvious comparison. No patient would willingly place complete trust in a surgeon who had never updated professional knowledge after graduation. Engineers continually adapt to changing technologies and safety standards. Judges engage with evolving constitutional interpretation. Military officers undergo regular professional education throughout their service. Every serious profession recognises that learning is continuous. Higher education cannot become the sole profession where intellectual growth effectively ends with appointment. The irony is that Pakistan’s college sector contains thousands of exceptionally capable teachers who have voluntarily pursued MPhil and PhD degrees despite limited institutional incentives. Many complete advanced research while balancing heavy teaching schedules, administrative responsibilities and family obligations. Their commitment deserves recognition because it reflects a genuine desire to improve professionally rather than merely fulfil formal requirements. Yet the existing structure frequently sends the opposite message. Promotion often rewards waiting more consistently than learning. When advanced qualifications receive insufficient institutional value, the incentive to pursue rigorous scholarship inevitably weakens. No education system can flourish if intellectual ambition appears optional while seniority remains sufficient. The anomaly becomes even more striking when one examines the present hierarchy within many public colleges. It is no longer uncommon to find an MPhil-qualified lecturer or even a PhD serving under an officer whose highest

The previous part VIII of this series concluded that a just tax system must satisfy more than the requirements of arithmetic. It must rest upon legislative competence, representative consent, rational classification, due process, protection against arbitrary deprivation, transparent expenditure and effective remedies. Parliament, while levying taxes cannot constitutionalise injustice merely by enacting it. Pakistan’s fiscal crisis will not be resolved by asking citizens to finance an unreformed state through increasingly coercive instruments. A recent book by Dr Hafiz A. Pasha, Fatima Malik and Hafsa Tanveer, Pakistan: Reforming an Inefficient and Inequitable Tax System, provides an appropriate opportunity to carry that argument forward. The volume is ambitious, data-rich and deserving of serious attention. Few recent studies attempt, within a single work, to map federal and provincial taxation, estimate tax gaps through different methodologies, examine incidence across income groups and sectors, evaluate fiscal incentives and finally present a quantified reform programme. Its central diagnosis is familiar but supported by extensive empirical work. Pakistan combines high statutory rates with a low tax-to-GDP ratio, excessive dependence on indirect taxation, pervasive evasion, severe sectoral disparities and weak provincial revenue mobilisation. The authors propose reforms that, in their estimation, can increase the national tax-to-GDP ratio by approximately three percentage points by 2027–28. The principal difficulty lies not in what the book measures. It lies in what the framework of measurement necessarily leaves outside its calculations. The usefulness—and limits—of the tax-gap lens The organising idea of the book is the tax gap. Through cross-country regressions, a representative-tax-system approach, monetary estimates of evasion and bottom-up calculations, the authors conclude that Pakistan possesses the potential to collect approximately three percent of GDP more in taxes. This is analytically valuable. It also risks converting a constitutional and political problem into an accounting exercise. A tax gap is not necessarily a reservoir of revenue waiting to be collected. Parts of it may reflect privileges protected by influential groups. Other parts arise from low productivity, fragmented enterprises, unemployment, weak financial inclusion and the regulatory costs created by the state itself. Informality is not always a voluntary choice made for the purpose of evasion; it can also be a survival strategy in an economy where formalisation invites multiple taxes, withholding obligations, inspections and compliance costs without ensuring reliable public services. Citizens also judge taxation in relation to expenditure. Their reluctance cannot be understood solely as non-compliance when additional revenue appears likely to finance debt servicing, administrative expansion, elite concessions, loss-making state enterprises and politically negotiated subsidies rather than education, healthcare, transport, security of property and equal economic opportunity. The decisive question is consequently not only how much more can be collected. It is who controls the state, who bears its burdens, who receives its rents, and why technically sound reforms repeatedly fail. Public finance asks how the gap should be closed. Constitutional Political Economy asks why the beneficiaries of the existing arrangement would permit it to be closed fairly. The selective fiscal state The book repeatedly recognises the presence of powerful vested interests. It identifies the under-taxation of property, agriculture, wholesale and retail trade, real estate and parts of the services sector. At the same time, it finds a disproportionate burden upon large-scale manufacturing, banking and formal businesses. Its estimate that industry bears taxes equivalent to 23.8 percent of its value added, with the incidence on large-scale manufacturing exceeding 36 percent, is particularly revealing. These figures demonstrate that Pakistan does not suffer from a uniformly low-tax equilibrium. Pakistan has created a selective fiscal state: coercive towards visible and organised taxpayers, accommodating towards politically protected or administratively difficult constituencies. This conclusion should change the design of reform. Where political influence determines the tax structure, another catalogue of proposed rates and bases cannot alter the equilibrium by itself. Reform must address the rules through which fiscal choices are made, concessions are granted and enforcement is selectively applied. A technically perfect proposal remains politically irrelevant when those who must enact it derive power from the arrangements it seeks to dismantle. Withholdingisation is not income taxation The book correctly notes that withholding and advance taxes generate overwhelming part of total income-tax revenue and have failed to eliminate evasion. It also recognises the distortions created by presumptive/mimum taxation and the fragmentation of income into separately taxed blocs. The consequences are more serious than those of an imperfect collection technique. Withholdingisation represents the gradual abandonment of income taxation as a levy on net accretion to economic power. Banks, utility companies, telecom operators, employers, import authorities, registrars and purchasers have been converted into unpaid tax collectors. Gross transactions are taxed without determining actual income, allowable expenditure, losses or the taxpayer’s real capacity to contribute. The revenue authority obtains money without developing the institutional capacity to examine accounts, conduct intelligent audits and establish taxable income. Compliant businesses suffer liquidity costs and wait for adjustments or refunds, while informal and influential sectors remain beyond meaningful assessment. The reform of income taxation must restore the return, assessment and audit as its foundations. Withholding should remain confined to situations where it is a genuine advance payment—principally salaries, dividends, profit on debt and payments to non-residents (mostly covered under tax treaties). It should remain fully adjustable against the final liability. A system based upon extracting money from every visible transaction may achieve collection targets. It cannot be described as a coherent income tax. Contradictions within the reform programme The book advocates broad-basing and criticises presumptive taxation, but later recommends restoration of a one-percent fixed tax on export proceeds. It supports neutrality while proposing a general five-year tax holiday for investment, enhanced deductions for energy costs and other selective allowances. These proposals arise from genuine concerns. Pakistan’s investment rate remains dangerously low, exporters face high energy and financing costs, and industry competes under an unstable exchange-rate and tariff environment. The proposed remedies nevertheless risk recreating the same exceptionalism that has made Pakistan’s tax system discriminatory, unpredictable and vulnerable to lobbying. A fixed tax on export proceeds is not a tax on income. It taxes turnover

The debate over Pakistan’s administrative structure has returned to the national stage after Interior Minister Syed Mohsin Raza Naqvi suggested that the country should seriously examine the question of creating new provinces or administrative units. Predictably, the discussion immediately descended into familiar political slogans. Some portrayed the proposal as a threat to federalism, others embraced it as the long-awaited solution to governance failures. Between these two extremes lies a far more important question: what does the Constitution of Pakistan actually permit, and what course best serves national unity at a time of unprecedented regional instability? The timing of the debate is significant. Pakistan today faces persistent security challenges in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, constitutional sensitivities relating to Azad Jammu and Kashmir, continuing political polarisation, and a rapidly deteriorating strategic environment as conflict in the Middle East threatens to reshape regional geopolitics. In such circumstances, constitutional reform should not be driven by political expediency. It must be guided by constitutional principles, empirical evidence and the long-term interests of the federation. The Constitution of islamic Republic of Pakistan is neither silent nor rigid on the question of creating new provinces. Article 1 recognises Pakistan as a federation consisting of provinces and territories whose limits may be altered in accordance with the Constitution. However, Article 239(4) places an important constitutional safeguard on any proposal affecting provincial boundaries. No constitutional amendment that alters the limits of a province can become law unless, in addition to obtaining the prescribed parliamentary majority, it is approved by not less than two-thirds of the members of the provincial assembly concerned. This requirement reflects the federal compact. Provinces are not merely administrative divisions; they are constitutional partners in the federation. Consequently, no province can be divided, merged or otherwise altered through a simple parliamentary majority in Islamabad. Provincial consent is itself a constitutional requirement. This constitutional position explains why proposals for South Punjab, Bahawalpur, Hazara or other new provinces have repeatedly surfaced over the past two decades but have never matured into constitutional reality. Various drafts, often described collectively as proposals for a Twenty-Eighth Constitutional Amendment, have circulated in political and academic circles. They have contemplated the creation of additional provinces together with corresponding adjustments in Senate representation, National Finance Commission allocations, provincial institutions and administrative structures. Yet none has commanded the political consensus demanded by Article 239. Constitutional design has proved stronger than political rhetoric. The debate, however, should not begin with Article 239. It should begin with Article 140A. Inserted through the Constitution (Eighteenth Amendment) Act of 2010, Article 140A obliges every province to establish a local government system and devolve political, administrative and financial responsibility and authority to elected representatives. This is not merely a recommendation. It is a constitutional command. Unfortunately, after even lapse of 16 years, this remains a constitutional provision that has been implemented (sic) with greater reluctance. Successive provincial governments, irrespective of political affiliation, have preferred centralised provincial bureaucracies over constitutionally empowered local governments. Elections have been delayed, powers diluted, finances retained by provincial capitals and administrative authority reclaimed through executive control. The result is that Pakistan continues to speak the language of devolution while practising administrative centralisation. Before demanding new provinces, one must ask a more fundamental question: has Pakistan sincerely implemented the Constitution it already possesses? The empirical evidence nevertheless deserves serious attention. Pakistan has experienced extraordinary demographic transformation since independence. The country’s population has increased from approximately 34 million in the early years of independence to over 255 million today, yet the number of provinces has remained unchanged. The presentation recently unveiled on constitutional and administrative reforms demonstrates this remarkable contrast and argues that governance structures have failed to evolve alongside population growth. It further notes that each of Pakistan’s four provinces administers populations exceeding those of many sovereign countries and that, among major federations, Pakistan places an unusually large administrative burden upon each provincial government. Whether one accepts every conclusion of that presentation/study or not, the underlying constitutional question cannot be ignored. Effective governance depends not merely upon constitutional powers but upon administrative reach. A provincial capital hundreds of kilometres from remote districts inevitably encounters greater challenges in delivering education, healthcare, policing and justice than a more decentralised system. The presentation also links many development indicators with administrative distance from provincial capitals, suggesting that constitutional debate should be informed by measurable governance outcomes rather than political sentiment alone. However,  administrative efficiency is only one dimension of federalism. The second is national integration. Pakistan’s history demonstrates that provincial identities become dangerous only when constitutional grievances remain unresolved. Conversely, attempts to suppress legitimate constitutional debate merely strengthen centrifugal tendencies. The Constitution therefore wisely provides a peaceful and democratic mechanism through which territorial adjustments may be considered while ensuring that no province loses its constitutional status without its own consent. This balanced approach deserves preservation. Current security realities also counsel prudence. Parts of Balochistan continue to face organised violence supported by hostile external actors. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa confronts renewed terrorist activity along its western frontier. Azad Jammu and Kashmir occupies a unique constitutional and strategic position within Pakistan’s national policy on Jammu and Kashmir. Simultaneously, the widening conflict across the Middle East has introduced new uncertainties affecting regional security, energy supplies and geopolitical alignments. These circumstances require a stronger federation rather than a weaker one. That objective, however, should not be confused with excessive centralisation. Strong federations are built upon responsive institutions, constitutional legitimacy and public confidence. Citizens judge the State not by constitutional theory but by whether schools function, hospitals remain open, justice is delivered promptly and basic civic services reach every district. Equally important is the responsibility of political leadership. Statements by political actors—including repeated interventions by Maulana Fazlur Rehman on constitutional and provincial questions—must be evaluated through the prism of constitutionalism rather than political confrontation. Democratic disagreement is legitimate, but constitutional discourse should unite rather than inflame an already polarised polity. The Constitution provides lawful mechanisms for reform. Political mobilisation should reinforce those mechanisms, not substitute for them.