Opinion

Every political leader is eventually defined not by promises but by performance under pressure. Pakistan has faced repeated political, economic and administrative challenges over the decades, and each crisis has demanded leadership with experience, patience and the ability to find solutions. In my view, Prime Minister Muhammad Shehbaz Sharif has established himself as a leader who understands governance, negotiation and crisis management. His journey from grassroots politics to becoming Chief Minister of Punjab and later Prime Minister of Pakistan has given him decades of experience in dealing with the practical realities of administration and public service. His reputation as a hands-on administrator comes from his approach to governance. During his tenure as Chief Minister of Punjab, he focused on reforms in education, healthcare, infrastructure and public service delivery. His fast-paced working style earned him the title “Shehbaz Speed”, reflecting his emphasis on implementation and results. I first met Shehbaz Sharif in 2005 at his flat in Avenfield House, London. Over the past twenty-one years, I have had the opportunity to observe his political journey closely. While journalism requires independence and critical analysis, personal observation also provides a unique perspective. Throughout this period, his commitment to Pakistan and his passion for public service have remained evident. During his years as Chief Minister of Punjab, I witnessed his determination to create opportunities for young Pakistanis, particularly through education reforms. Initiatives such as the Punjab Education Endowment Fund, Danish Schools, merit-based scholarships, laptop schemes for students and stipends for high achievers aimed to expand access to quality education. The policy of sending high-performing students abroad, including to the United Kingdom and other European countries, was designed to broaden their vision and expose them to international standards. These initiatives reflected a belief that education is the foundation for long-term national development. His reforms in healthcare and infrastructure also became a significant part of his governance record. Supporters believe that his focus on improving public services in Punjab provided a model of administrative delivery that he later brought to the national level. As Prime Minister, Shehbaz Sharif has faced one of the most challenging periods in Pakistan’s recent history. His supporters credit his government with helping stabilise the economy, restoring international engagement and steering Pakistan away from the risk of a deeper financial crisis. Although major economic challenges remain, they argue that difficult decisions have helped create a more stable foundation. One of the notable features of the current political landscape has been cooperation between state institutions. Supporters view the working relationship between Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and Field Marshal Syed Asim Munir as an example of institutional coordination aimed at achieving national stability and economic progress. Pakistan has also sought a more active role on the international stage. Supporters point to its diplomatic engagement, including efforts to promote dialogue during periods of international tension, as evidence that Pakistan continues to play an important role in regional and global affairs. In my view, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has repeatedly demonstrated the ability to steer Pakistan through difficult circumstances. Based on my observations over more than two decades, I believe he has faced major challenges before and has the experience and determination to overcome them again. His strength lies in his understanding of governance, his ability to negotiate with different stakeholders and his focus on delivery. Whether dealing with political partners, institutions or international partners, his supporters believe his experience gives him an advantage in managing complex situations. However, Pakistan’s journey towards prosperity requires continued reforms. Economic pressures, inflation, unemployment and governance challenges remain serious concerns. The next phase must focus on ensuring that national progress translates into improvements in the daily lives of ordinary citizens. In my opinion, Pakistan also needs stronger administrative decentralisation. Whether through new provinces or more empowered administrative units, decision-making should be brought closer to the people. More effective local governance can improve accountability, strengthen public services and accelerate development across the country. Pakistan now needs consistency, stability and a collective commitment from all stakeholders. Political differences are part of democracy, but national progress requires institutions to work together and focus on the common goal of prosperity. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has built his political career around crisis management and public administration. His greatest challenge now is to convert stability into sustainable growth and lasting development. History will ultimately judge every leader by the impact they leave behind. For Shehbaz Sharif, the opportunity remains to transform difficult times into a period of economic recovery, institutional strength and a stronger Pakistan for future generations.

I have been watching this whole Syed Muhammad Ahmed and Fahad Sheikh episode play out for days now. Something about it will not leave my mind. Not the scandal part. Not the apology part. The part where an older actor finally said, enough, someone is treating me poorly, and I am not going to stay quiet about it. That takes courage. Most people in his position and age would have swallowed the insult and moved on. He did not. He described how a younger colleague poked fun at his baldness, his height, his years in the profession, things that make him who he is. And when a federal minister stepped in and suggested a mentorship program so senior actors could guide the younger lot, I found myself nodding along. What a simple, decent idea. But here is what really struck me. This same disease, and I do mean disease, is eating away at another profession I know far better than showbiz. I mean journalism. I do not say this lightly. Every other day, I watch our own colleagues, people who work in the same profession as me, make fun of our elder journalists. Senior reporters who spent decades building this field, who broke stories when there was no social media to amplify them, who trained half the newsroom without ever asking for credit, these people now get mocked online. If a television channel calls someone a senior journalist, a certain crowd pounces immediately. They roll their eyes. They make jokes. They act as if age and experience are things to be embarrassed about, rather than things to be respected. I want to be fair here. Every journalist has the right to hold an ideology. I believe that with my whole heart. Disagreement is healthy. A newsroom full of people who think alike produces boring, lazy journalism. I have no complaint against anyone who looks at the news differently than I do. My complaint is about the tools some young journalists use to express that disagreement. Instead of writing a thoughtful counterargument, instead of picking apart an idea with facts and logic, they reach for personal insults. They mock a senior’s age. They mock his voice, his mannerisms, his old fashioned turns of phrase. This is not disagreement. This is low intellect wearing the mask of wit. I have seen young reporters who cannot form three coherent sentences about a policy issue, yet they can produce an entire thread mocking a veteran’s appearance within minutes. That imbalance tells you everything. When you lack the words to counter an argument, you attack the person instead. It is the oldest trick in the book, and it is a lazy one. Bushra Ansari said something in this whole controversy that stuck with me too. She said mistakes happen, tongues slip, and when someone apologises, we should accept it and move forward. I agree with her, mostly. Forgiveness matters. Nobody should lose their career over a single lapse in judgment. But forgiveness for a mistake is different from tolerating a pattern. If the mockery becomes routine, if senior professionals become an easy punchline every single week, then something in our culture needs fixing, not just the individual joke. I keep thinking about Syed Muhammad Ahmed’s words. He said he stayed quiet before because he knew a phone camera could turn any reaction into a headline. That fear alone tells you how normal this kind of disrespect has become. He finally spoke, and people listened. Good. I hope people in newsrooms find their own version of that moment soon. I hope young reporters learn to challenge ideas without demeaning the people who hold them. Our senior colleagues gave this profession its backbone. The least we owe them is an argument built on reason, not ridicule.

A few years back, the 18th Amendment was introduced with the promise that devolution of power is necessary to solve the people’s problems. It was necessary to empower people and bring resources to the ground level to positively impact their lives. The devolution of power was promised through the establishment of strong local governments.    However, devolution stalled at the provincial level.  Provincial governments refused to grant the promised autonomy to local governments. Moreover, local governments do not have financial autonomy at all, which is a prerequisite to empower them. For example, political parties at the provincial level use it to get maximum financial resources and autonomy, but refuse to devolve it to local governments.  Therefore, instead of benefiting people and the country, it has added to problems. Now, it is on the verge of collapse. Many voices ask to roll back the 18th Amendment, and they are justified.     Now the debate has started about creating new provinces, and the size of provinces is portrayed as a problem, as devolution of power and local governments were portrayed before the 18th Amendment. However, before creating new provinces, there is a need to learn from the failure of the 18th Amendment. It is necessary to analyze the reasons for the failure of the 18th Amendment. There can be many reasons, but the most prominent ones were governance and political culture. Thus, there is a need to first understand these before venturing into creating new provinces.    What is governance? There are different ways to define governance, but for me, “governance is an art and a science for satisfying people’s needs, building institutions to protect their interests and life, and keeping people’s aspirations or dreams alive. Governance is a basic ingredient of state-building and sustaining it; rather, it shoulders the existence of the state. Why? Because it ensures justice and social justice, provides security, and protects people from injustice and security threats. It holds true from ancient times to modern statehood. Hence, it is used to measure a country’s success and failure.    Over time, humans have developed different models of governance. In modern history, there are three prominent models: Western, socialist, and empathy-based (Islamic) models. The Western model, based on Liberal democracy, prefers democratic governance, which hinges on elections and accountability. It works through the slogan “government of the people, by the people, and for the people.” Unfortunately, over time, this slogan and accountability began to weaken, and elections alone remain the main component. Moreover, manipulation of the election process and the use of money further weaken the system, as marginalized people get pushed out of the system. Popular slogans, identity, ethnicity, and hate become the driving force.      The socialist model is based on the slogan of people-centric governance and the whole-process people’s democracy. People-centric governance means all policies and actions must be people-oriented, and outcomes must serve the people and bring positive change in their lives. The whole process of people’s democracy means that the interaction between the state and the people is continuous, not just at election time. Moreover, the merit and character of governance actors are determining factors to ensure people-centric governance. This model was invented in China and is practiced there, where it has achieved remarkable success.     The Islamic model hinges on three fundamental pillars: empathy, people, and accountability, in accordance with Sharia law. Empathy and people must be the focus of all policies and actions at all levels. People’s say must matter at all levels. Accountability must be ensured at all levels, without any discrimination. Famous incidents of Hazarat Umer (RA) and Hazarat Ali provide the true essence of accountability and governance. Lastly, the actors of governance must have the highest virtuous character and should not engage in any form of prejudiced behavior. Unfortunately, it is not practiced anywhere in the contemporary world.       From the above comparison, it can be inferred that despite differences in philosophy and actions, the goal of each model remains the same: to serve the people. Serving the people is the key to sustaining power and the state.    Unfortunately, Pakistan does not follow any of these models. Pakistan has its own style of governance, which is a mix of everything, and we cannot say exactly what it is. However, the most prominent features of our governance are relationship-based networks, misuse of power, and a money- and power-driven system. The system is devised through complicated webs of laws, rules, and requirements. It makes the system prone to corruption and rent-seeking behavior, exclusiveness, and clubs of interest groups, which have become common elements. The system operates through money in exchange for favors, business deals, or power and influence, and is facilitated by relationship-based networks.    It has given rise to a new type of governance model: elusive governance. There is no systematic way to plan and execute the plans. Plans are being made for short-term gains, not with proper planning or a futuristic approach. Haphazardness has become the most prominent feature of governance. People and people’s interests are largely missing. Let’s try to understand it with an example from Islamabad, the seat of government.    A few years ago, the Pakistani government initiated the Safe City program. The government spent billions of rupees to complete the Safe City program. It was sold as a program to secure the people. After that, a new government came to power and initiated the construction of signal-free corridors by building underpasses and flyovers. The government again spent billions of rupees to build the signal-free corridors. People were told it was being done to serve them by facilitating mobility. The process is still going on.     After spending hundreds of billions on the Safe City program and signal-free corridors, the government one day decided to install check posts at major points. The installation of check posts severely disrupts traffic flow and puts the lives of hundreds of people at risk across the city every day. Now, a common-sense question is: why do governments spend

By Latif Tunio Imagine two people standing outside a bakery. One has not eaten since yesterday. The other has already had breakfast but buys every loaf on the shelf because nobody else should have one. The first person is hungry. The second is greedy. That is the difference we often forget. Human needs are surprisingly small. We need food, shelter, safety, affection and dignity. Yet somewhere along the road to modern civilization, our desires stopped listening to our needs. We no longer ask, “Do I need this?” We ask, “Will people notice if I don’t have it?” Perhaps that is why we live in an age where skyscrapers grow taller while patience grows shorter. Greed is not new. Kings fought wars for gold centuries ago. Empires swallowed nations for spices, land and power. But today greed wears expensive perfume, carries a smartphone and speaks the language of success. It no longer hides in dark corners; sometimes it sits on television panels giving motivational speeches. A hundred years ago, a respected person was often remembered for honesty, wisdom or service to the community. Today, many people first ask, “What car does he drive?” or “How much is she worth?” Character has quietly been replaced by price tags.Social media has made this worse. Every morning millions of people wake up and immediately begin comparing their ordinary lives with someone else’s carefully edited highlights. One person posts a luxury vacation. Another uploads a new phone. Someone else announces another achievement. Nobody uploads sleepless nights, unpaid bills or family arguments. We compare our behind-the-scenes life with everyone else’s movie trailer.Then we wonder why we feel poor. The market has discovered something dangerous: making people dissatisfied is excellent for business. If people become content, who will buy the next upgrade Advertisements rarely sell products anymore. They sell insecurity. Frankly They whisper, “You are incomplete without this watch.” “You are unsuccessful without this car.” “You are unattractive without this cream.” Apparently even happiness now comes with monthly installments. Yet greed is not always born from vanity. Sometimes it grows out of fear. A father worried about rising school fees saves every rupee he can. A mother fears another economic crisis. A young graduate sees unemployment everywhere and begins believing that only endless money can guarantee safety. Fear slowly changes saving into hoarding, and caution into obsession. There is an old saying often attributed to Mahatma Gandhi: “The Earth provides enough for everyone’s need, but not everyone’s greed.” The tragedy is that many people no longer know where need ends and greed begins. Another reason is that we have quietly lost the art of contentment. Previous generations owned fewer things but often worried less about owning more. Today many people possess wardrobes full of clothes while insisting they have “nothing to wear.” We buy bigger houses only to spend less time inside them. We own faster internet but have slower conversations. Modern life keeps promising that the next purchase will finally complete us. It never does. Greed also flourishes where justice is weak. When honest people struggle while corrupt people become celebrities, society learns a dangerous lesson. Bribes become “connections.” Fraud becomes “smartness.” Tax evasion becomes “good business.” Before long, honesty begins looking like a financial disability. The message becomes painfully simple: if cheating pays and integrity suffers, why remain honest? This is how corruption stops being an individual crime and becomes a social culture. The damage reaches far beyond bank accounts. Families break apart over inheritance before the funeral flowers have even dried. Lifelong friendships disappear over business deals. Brothers become strangers because land suddenly becomes more valuable than blood. Perhaps the saddest part is that greedy people rarely enjoy what they collect. They spend years protecting possessions they never truly have time to use. They own everything except peace. Nature also pays the bill. Forests disappear because cutting trees is profitable today, even if floods arrive tomorrow. Rivers become sewers because treating waste reduces corporate profits. Mountains are blasted apart, oceans filled with plastic and clean air sold back to us in expensive machines. Humanity has become astonishingly efficient at converting tomorrow’s disasters into today’s profits. Can greed be reduced? Not by preaching alone. Children should learn that success includes honesty, kindness and responsibility—not only salaries. Schools should celebrate integrity as loudly as achievement. Families should teach gratitude before ambition. We also need digital wisdom: learning that a perfect life on a screen is often nothing more than excellent lighting and careful editing. Governments have responsibilities too. Laws must punish corruption without asking whether the offender is rich, famous or politically connected. Justice loses its meaning when it becomes negotiable. Above all, we need to rediscover contentment—not laziness, but the wisdom of knowing when enough is truly enough. A society does not become civilized because it builds taller buildings or produces richer billionaires. It becomes civilized when people can trust one another, when honesty is rewarded instead of mocked, and when success does not require sacrificing conscience. The greatest poverty in the twenty-first century may not be empty pockets. It may be full wallets attached to empty hearts. The writer is a Social activist. He can be reached at tunio.latif786@gmail.com

The debate over the creation of new administrative units and provinces in Pakistan has once again occupied the national discourse after Federal Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi declared that the country’s existing governance system had “collapsed” and argued that governance must be brought closer to the people through new administrative units. His remarks have revived an issue that has periodically surfaced since independence but has rarely moved beyond political rhetoric. While some interpreted his statement as a call for creating additional provinces, others argued that he was advocating broader administrative restructuring. Regardless of terminology, the debate has exposed the structural weaknesses of Pakistan’s governance architecture and compelled policymakers, constitutional experts and political parties to revisit an important question: can Pakistan continue to be governed effectively under its existing administrative framework, or has demographic growth, urban expansion and governance complexity made institutional restructuring unavoidable?  Pakistan today is home to more than 250 million people, yet it continues to function primarily through four provinces established under historical rather than administrative considerations. At independence in 1947, the population and governance challenges were dramatically different. Since then, urbanisation, economic diversification, internal migration and increasing demands for public services have transformed governance requirements. Provincial capitals often remain geographically and administratively distant from citizens living in peripheral districts. Residents of South Punjab, Hazara, southern Balochistan, merged districts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and interior Sindh frequently complain that decision-making remains concentrated in provincial capitals, resulting in unequal development, delayed service delivery and inadequate representation. Mohsin Naqvi’s argument rests on the proposition that governance has become excessively centralised and that citizens are compelled to travel long distances merely to access basic government services, courts and administrative offices. He further argued that countries with expanding populations have responded by creating additional administrative units rather than maintaining outdated structures. Whether one agrees with his assessment or not, his central observation deserves serious consideration because governance effectiveness is measured not by the size of government but by the accessibility, responsiveness and accountability of institutions.  The debate itself is not new. Successive governments have proposed South Punjab Province, Bahawalpur Province, Hazara Province and even administrative restructuring in Karachi and Balochistan. Parliamentary resolutions regarding South Punjab have previously been adopted, yet constitutional consensus has remained elusive. Political parties have often supported new provinces while in opposition but have shown considerably less enthusiasm after assuming power. Consequently, proposals have become election slogans rather than governance reforms.  Critics of creating new provinces argue that administrative fragmentation alone cannot solve governance failures. They point out that Pakistan’s primary problem is not necessarily the number of provinces but weak institutions, bureaucratic inefficiency, political interference, corruption and inconsistent implementation of laws. According to this perspective, multiplying provinces without institutional reform merely replicates existing inefficiencies across additional administrative boundaries. New provincial governments would require assemblies, governors, chief ministers, secretariats, police structures, judicial infrastructure and enormous recurring financial expenditures. Unless accompanied by governance reforms, decentralisation may simply increase administrative costs without improving public service delivery. Supporters, however, contend that administrative proximity improves governance outcomes. Comparative international experience demonstrates that countries such as India have periodically reorganised states to improve administrative efficiency and political representation. Smaller administrative jurisdictions often enable faster decision-making, improved monitoring, stronger accountability and more equitable distribution of development resources. Citizens generally experience better governance when government institutions are physically and administratively closer to them. These arguments have gained renewed attention following Naqvi’s intervention.  However, the current debate suffers from one significant omission. It largely ignores Pakistan’s weakest democratic institution: local government. Before creating additional provinces, policymakers must honestly evaluate why local governments have repeatedly failed. Pakistan has experimented with local government systems under different constitutional and political arrangements, yet these institutions have rarely been allowed to function independently and consistently. Elected local governments are frequently dissolved, elections are delayed and financial autonomy remains severely restricted. Provincial governments often resist devolving meaningful authority because local governments are perceived as political competitors rather than governance partners. This brings the issue of local body elections to the centre of the discussion. The Constitution envisions democratic decentralisation, yet local government elections have remained irregular across several provinces. In many cases, elected councils complete only partial terms or remain financially dependent upon provincial governments. Consequently, citizens seeking municipal services, sanitation, water supply, local roads, building regulation or community development frequently confront administrative paralysis. A country that struggles to sustain functioning local governments cannot realistically expect that merely creating additional provinces will automatically improve governance. The experience of Pakistan’s devolution reforms provides valuable lessons. The Local Government reforms introduced in the early 2000s attempted to decentralise authority by empowering districts and local councils. Although those reforms had weaknesses and generated political controversy, they demonstrated that bringing government closer to citizens can improve responsiveness when accompanied by fiscal authority, administrative autonomy and institutional accountability. Unfortunately, subsequent governments reversed or weakened many of these arrangements, resulting in repeated cycles of centralisation and decentralisation. Political reactions to Mohsin Naqvi’s proposal reflect Pakistan’s broader constitutional divisions. Some leaders have welcomed discussion on governance reform while supporting greater administrative decentralisation. Others have questioned both the timing and constitutional implications of the proposal, expressing concerns that restructuring provinces without broad political consensus could intensify ethnic, linguistic and regional sensitivities. There are also concerns that debates over provincial boundaries could distract attention from more immediate governance priorities, including economic recovery, inflation, institutional reforms and electoral credibility. The political diversity of these reactions demonstrates that constitutional restructuring cannot succeed through executive statements alone; it requires sustained parliamentary dialogue, provincial participation and national consensus.  The constitutional dimension cannot be overlooked. Creating new provinces requires constitutional amendments and political agreement among federal and provincial stakeholders. Such reforms inevitably involve questions relating to resource distribution, National Finance Commission allocations, Senate representation, civil service restructuring, judicial jurisdictions and provincial assets. Therefore, any attempt to redraw administrative boundaries without extensive consultation risks generating political instability rather than administrative efficiency. The opportunities nevertheless remain significant. Properly designed administrative restructuring could reduce regional disparities, improve public service delivery, enhance

Pakistan has entered a crucial phase in its constitutional and administrative journey. With a population exceeding 250 million, the governance model that served the country decades ago is increasingly being questioned. Recent public discussions, including remarks by Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi advocating a debate on administrative reforms in light of Pakistan’s growing population, have reignited an important national conversation: Is it time to rethink how Pakistan is governed? In my view, the answer is yes. The real challenge is not simply whether Pakistan should create more provinces. The real challenge is how governance can be brought closer to the people. A modern state cannot be effectively administered through excessive centralization when its population, economy, and urban centers have expanded dramatically over the past several decades. The first and most important reform should be the empowerment of local governments. District administrations, metropolitan authorities, and municipal governments should be given genuine constitutional authority, financial autonomy, and administrative independence. Citizens interact with government primarily through local institutions. Therefore, healthcare, education, sanitation, water supply, transport, municipal planning, and public safety should be managed by empowered local governments rather than through an overly centralized administrative structure. Karachi represents the strongest example of why governance reform has become a necessity rather than a choice. As Pakistan’s largest city and economic engine, Karachi deserves a governance model specifically designed for a modern global megacity. Despite its enormous contribution to the national economy, the city continues to face serious challenges in urban planning, infrastructure, traffic management, public transport, water supply, waste management, and municipal administration. In my opinion, simply placing Karachi under direct federal control would not automatically solve these problems. The federal government already carries enormous national responsibilities, and transferring administrative authority without structural reforms may simply relocate existing governance challenges. Instead, Karachi requires a metropolitan governance model comparable to internationally recognized cities such as New York, where professional city administration, clearly defined institutional responsibilities, strong municipal leadership, effective policing coordination, urban planning, and financial autonomy work together under a comprehensive metropolitan framework. Such a model could improve service delivery while ensuring greater accountability and long-term planning. Governance reform should not stop at strengthening local governments. Pakistan should also seriously consider creating additional provinces wherever there is genuine administrative need, broad public consultation, and constitutional consensus. Smaller provinces can improve administrative efficiency, strengthen regional representation, and make governments more responsive to local communities. More representative provincial structures can also help ensure that the concerns of both urban and rural populations receive greater attention at the national level. Equally important is the devolution of administrative authority to districts and local institutions. Excessive concentration of political and administrative power often limits opportunities for ordinary citizens to influence decisions that directly affect their lives. A stronger local government system would enable communities to participate more effectively in governance while improving transparency, accountability, and public service delivery. This debate should never be viewed as an attempt to weaken Sindh or divide its people. On the contrary, I believe these reforms would strengthen Sindh by ensuring that development and decision-making reach every corner of the province. Whether someone lives in Kandhkot, Larkana, Mithi, Islamkot, Mirpurkhas, Badin, Hyderabad, Thatta, or Karachi, every citizen deserves equal access to quality healthcare, education, infrastructure, clean drinking water, municipal services, and economic opportunities. An equally important aspect of this reform process is public awareness and civic education. Pakistan needs a network of credible academics, constitutional experts, economists, retired civil servants, educationists, and respected members of civil society who can engage directly with communities across Sindh, particularly in rural and underserved areas where access to balanced political information may be limited. Their role should be to explain, in Sindhi and other local languages, the constitutional, administrative, and economic implications of decentralization, stronger local governments, and, where appropriate, the creation of additional provinces. Many citizens hear conflicting political narratives about these proposals. In my view, people should be encouraged to evaluate reforms on the basis of evidence, administrative efficiency, and public welfare rather than fear or political rhetoric. If these reforms genuinely improve representation, accountability, and service delivery, they should be supported regardless of political interests. Ultimately, the objective should not be to benefit any political party but to empower every citizen and ensure that governance serves the people instead of entrenched centers of power. Unfortunately, discussions about administrative reform are often overshadowed by political narratives that generate fear and misunderstanding. In my opinion, governance reforms should be evaluated on their administrative merits rather than through the lens of partisan politics. Citizens should be encouraged to examine whether decentralisation would improve their quality of life instead of viewing every proposal as a political contest. Meaningful reform also requires strengthening independent institutions, ensuring merit-based appointments, improving accountability, and modernising public administration. Whether Pakistan ultimately retains its parliamentary system or chooses another constitutional framework, lasting success will depend upon transparent institutions, professional governance, and effective local administration. Pakistan’s future does not depend merely on drawing new boundaries on a map. It depends upon building a governance system that places citizens—not bureaucracy or political centralization, at the center of public administration. Strong local governments, empowered districts, efficient metropolitan administrations, and, where constitutionally appropriate, additional provinces can together create a stronger federation, a more prosperous Sindh, and a better future for every Pakistani. A prosperous Pakistan will be built not through the concentration of power, but through the fair and effective distribution of power to the people.

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that sets in when a war refuses to end on schedule. Five months into the conflict between the United States and Iran, we are living through it. Ceasefires are announced and collapse within weeks. Strikes are billed as decisive and are followed, days later, by more strikes. Each side insists the other will soon come to its senses, and each side is wrong. What we are watching is not a war moving toward resolution. It is a war that has become self-sustaining, and the longer it runs, the more countries get pulled into its logic whether they wanted a role in it or not. Saudi Arabia is the clearest example. For nearly four years, Riyadh had quietly extracted itself from the Yemen war, treating the 2022 ceasefire with the Houthis as one of the few unambiguous foreign policy wins of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman’s tenure. That restraint is now gone. When the Houthis resumed missile fire at Israel in solidarity with Tehran, and then began striking Saudi oil infrastructure directly, Riyadh had no real choice but to respond. It bombed Hodeidah. The Houthis retaliated against Aramco facilities in Yanbu and Jizan. A conflict Saudi Arabia spent years trying to bury is now, again, live on its border, not because Riyadh chose it but because a war between Washington and Tehran left no room for neutrality. This is the pattern worth naming plainly: nobody in this conflict is fighting the war they intended to fight. Washington launched its campaign framed around Iran’s nuclear program, wagering that decisive strikes would force capitulation or collapse. Instead it has strikes running past the two-week mark with no clear terminus, American service members killed in Jordan and Iraq, and a president publicly conceding that the exit could be “diplomatic or military” — which is another way of saying nobody currently knows how this ends. Iran, for its part, has responded to devastating strikes on its cities not with capitulation but with exactly the kind of asymmetric, proxy-driven defiance its doctrine was built for, activating fronts in Iraq, the Gulf, and now Yemen that cost it little and cost everyone else a great deal. The Strait of Hormuz tells the same story in economic terms. Daily vessel traffic through one of the world’s most important oil chokepoints has fallen to a small fraction of its prewar level. That is not an abstraction. It shows up in tanker insurance premiums in Piraeus and London, in fuel costs in Mumbai and Rotterdam, in the balance sheets of countries that have precisely nothing to do with this fight. War aims that once seemed narrowly bilateral — Washington versus Tehran, over centrifuges and missile stockpiles — have metastasized into a tax on global trade that nobody voted for and nobody can opt out of. It is tempting, watching this unfold, to look for a single culprit. Commentators sympathetic to Washington will point to Iran’s decades of proxy warfare, its nuclear ambiguity, its crackdown on its own protesters, and argue the current campaign is simply overdue accountability. Commentators sympathetic to Tehran will point to a US-Israeli strike that killed Iran’s Supreme Leader and ask what state, faced with the assassination of its head of state, would not treat that as an act of war demanding a response. Both arguments contain real grievances. Neither survives contact with what has actually happened since: a conflict that both sides insist is about narrow, defensible aims but that neither side has been able to keep narrow. Wars rarely stay the size their architects intend. What should worry observers most is not any single strike or retaliation but the absence of an exit ramp anyone believes in. Ceasefires here have not functioned as steps toward peace; they have functioned as pauses for rearmament, evidenced by how quickly each one has collapsed back into nightly bombing. That is the signature of a conflict without a theory of victory — one where both governments can inflict real pain on the other indefinitely, but where neither can convert that pain into a settlement it can sell to its own public. In that kind of war, the fighting does not stop because someone wins. It stops, if it stops, because the costs finally exceed what either government’s domestic politics can absorb — and on the evidence of the past five months, that threshold keeps receding rather than approaching. Saudi Arabia’s reluctant return to the Yemen battlefield should be read as an early warning rather than a footnote. It shows how a conflict that both Washington and Tehran describe as fundamentally about themselves keeps finding new participants who never agreed to join. If this war continues on its current trajectory, the question worth asking is not which superpower prevails, but how many other countries, currencies, and shipping lanes get quietly conscripted before it does.

To watch Shakarparian today is to mourn a broken promise. Not a fleeting vow, but a masterplan—conceived with purpose, codified on paper, and abandoned by design. I went through archives at Bazar Road, Iqbal Hall G-7, poring over the original master plan drawn up in 1960 by the great Greek architect and city planner Konstantinos Apostolos Doxiadis and his team. It was there that I first understood what Shakarparian was always meant to be. Doxiadis and his fellow planners did not design this triangle-shaped green expanse near Zero Point as an afterthought, a leftover patch of land between roads. They designated it, deliberately and explicitly, as the lungs of Islamabad — a temperature regulator, a natural sound barrier, a groundwater recharge zone, and a protective forest without which the city’s clean air was never meant to exist. This was not sentiment. This was engineering. And we have spent the decades since betraying it. Islamabad in 1961 was home to barely 117,000 people. Today it holds well over 2.4 million. That growth was not an accident — it was, in part, the very success of Doxiadis’s vision: a green, livable, breathable capital that drew people in from across the country and beyond. But success has a cruel irony here, because the same city that grew because of its green lungs has spent decades quietly cutting into them. Between 1961 and 2024, Islamabad’s temperature has already climbed by 5 degrees Celsius, with projections warning of a further 0.7 degrees by 2039 and 2.2 degrees by 2069. This is the urban heat island effect, and it is not an abstraction — it is Doxiadis’s temperature regulator being dismantled, piece by piece, exactly as he warned it must not be. Shakarparian itself covers roughly 1,376 hectares, formally absorbed into the Margalla Hills National Park in 1980, sitting almost at the very heart of the capital — an emerald set into the city’s crown, as it deserves to be called. A biodiversity survey conducted in November 2014 found 155 animal species sheltering within it: 23 species of mammals, 104 species of birds spanning 16 orders and 42 families, 22 species of reptiles, and 6 species of amphibians. The same survey catalogued more than 661 plant species across 28 families, with six distinct dominant vegetation communities knitting the forest floor together. This is not a park. This is a living, breathing ecological archive sitting in the geographic center of a national capital — a rarity almost nowhere else replicated in the world. It was Roedad Khan — the legendary civil servant and statesman — who understood the fragility of this inheritance early enough to act. In 1989 he founded the Margalla Hills Society, and for decades that institution has done more than most government departments to keep the wider Margalla ecosystem intact. But Shakarparian, sitting apart within it, has not been so fortunate. It has instead become a recurring casualty of the very authority meant to protect it — the Capital Development Authority itself. Piece by piece, lease by lease, CDA has allowed Shakarparian’s protective forest cover to be carved away. Look at what now occupies ground that was meant to remain forest: the Parade Ground, the Pak-China Friendship Centre, the Islamabad Club, the Gun and Country Club, Lok Virsa, an open-air theatre, and a string of upscale hotels and restaurants. Each addition was, in its own file, justified. Together, they are a forest reduced to a backdrop for institutions that no longer need it and increasingly cannot coexist with it. This has happened in direct violation of Regulation 4(3)(b) of the ICT Zoning Regulations of Islamabad, which exists for the explicit purpose of preventing exactly this kind of land-use change, allegedly under sustained political pressure. Satellite imagery from Landsat and Sentinel spanning the last twenty years tells the story without need for further commentary: the southwest region of Shakarparian shows a stark, measurable retreat of forest cover. The judiciary, at least once, was willing to look squarely at this. On January 11, 2022, the Islamabad High Court delivered its verdict in Prof. Zahid Baig Mirza versus Capital Development Authority, and the ruling was unambiguous: the shifting of the Parade Ground into Zone 3, the widening of roads through the forest, and the construction of the China Friendship Centre inside Shakarparian all violated the ICT Zoning Regulations. It was, on paper, a vindication of everything Doxiadis intended and everything CDA had ignored. A court verdict that is not enforced, however, is simply another document gathering dust the way the original master plan itself so nearly did. And here I have to say something that will not make me popular in certain circles of this city: the NGO sector stationed in Islamabad has failed Shakarparian as thoroughly as CDA has bulldozed it. The single biggest failure of these organizations is that they will not raise their own voice — they wait, always, for the government to raise it first, as though advocacy requires official permission. That is not activism. That is choreography. Too many of these NGOs are, in practice, family businesses wearing the language of conservation: leadership passed quietly within the same households for years, boards that never rotate, and a business model built not around planting a single tree in Shakarparian but around producing glossy reports, attending conferences, and mastering the art of recycling the same handful of buzzwords — resilience, sustainability, nature-based solutions — into slightly different sentences for slightly different donors. They are experts in rephrasing a crisis. They are not experts in stopping one. When the chainsaws reached the H-8 green belt, it was a lone campaigner and a worried student who spoke up first, not the well-funded organisations whose entire mandate is supposed to be exactly this. This failure is made worse by the fact that the government itself is not short of obligations it has already signed onto. Pakistan is a party to the Convention on Biological Diversity, which binds it to conserve representative ecosystems and halt biodiversity loss

The preceding parts of this series began with a simple question: why do technically sound economic and tax reforms repeatedly fail in Pakistan? The answer cannot be found in tax rates, revenue targets or administrative capacity alone. Pakistan’s fiscal failures arise from the constitutional and political order within which taxation, expenditure, borrowing and distribution take place.  The country does not merely have an inefficient tax system. It has a fiscal state whose incentives favour immediate extraction, selective enforcement, negotiated privilege and recurring external dependence. The previous part IX applied this framework to contemporary proposals for closing Pakistan’s tax gap. Empirical estimates of untaxed capacity, sectoral inequality and revenue potential are valuable.  Data tell us where disparities exist and what additional resources might theoretically be mobilised. However, data do not explain why those disparities have survived repeated reform efforts, nor why the same burdens continue to fall upon documented businesses, salaried persons and ordinary consumers. That explanation lies beyond public finance. Constitutional Political Economy (CPE) begins from the recognition that the state is not an abstract guardian automatically pursuing collective welfare. It consists of institutions and individuals responding to incentives, protecting authority, bargaining over resources and operating within formal and informal rules.  Fiscal outcomes reflect the distribution of political power as much as principles of efficiency or equity. Pakistan’s tax crisis is the fiscal expression of that political order. Revenue without a fiscal compact A sustainable tax system rests upon a fiscal compact between citizen and state. Citizens contribute according to lawful and reasonably distributed burdens. The state, in return, provides security, justice, education, healthcare, infrastructure, economic opportunity and protection against vulnerability.  Pakistan has progressively weakened both sides of that compact. The state demands more from those already visible while tolerating privileges for those capable of political resistance.  Citizens encounter taxes in electricity bills, fuel prices, banking transactions, telecommunications, imports, contracts and ordinary consumption. Much of this extraction occurs without determining their actual income or ability to pay. Public services remain inadequate and uneven. Taxpayers are then told that services cannot improve because revenue is insufficient. The state responds to the resulting mistrust with more withholding, surveillance and coercion.  This creates a destructive cycle: weak services reduce consent; declining consent increases reliance on coercive collection; coercion deepens mistrust; mistrust encourages informality; and informality becomes the justification for still more transaction-based taxation. A fiscal compact cannot be created through fear. Restoring income taxation The first requirement is to restore the meaning of income tax. Income taxation should ordinarily measure net income after legitimate costs and losses and impose liability according to capacity to pay. Pakistan has instead constructed a vast structure of advance, minimum, final, presumptive and withholding taxes imposed upon transactions, turnover and gross receipts. This structure is administratively convenient. It allows the state to collect through banks, employers, utilities, import authorities and private businesses without developing the institutional capacity to determine real income. Its convenience is precisely the problem. Withholding should remain where deduction at source is logically connected with the recipient’s income and operates as an adjustable advance—principally salaries, dividends and profit on debt. It should not function as a substitute for return-based taxation, proper assessment and intelligent audit. Turnover cannot permanently replace income. A business earning a narrow margin cannot justly be taxed in the same manner as one earning extraordinary profits merely because both record similar receipts. Minimum and presumptive regimes penalise investment, distort business structures and convert losses into taxable events. The objective should not be abolition of withholding overnight. It should be a legislated transition towards a system in which withholding becomes limited, adjustable and subordinate to final determination of income. A genuine value added tax The second requirement is restoration of sales tax as a genuine value added tax. Pakistan has retained the vocabulary of VAT while repeatedly breaking its chain through exemptions, special schedules, blocked credits, fixed regimes, multiple rates and arbitrary restrictions. The result is cascading, litigation, refund accumulation and a bias against documented production. A genuine VAT should apply through a broad and coherent base, a substantially lower standard rate and unrestricted adjustment of legitimate input tax.  Exemptions should be confined to carefully identified necessities and public-interest activities. Refunds should be treated as taxpayers’ money, not as an unofficial source of financing for the state. The constitutional division between sales tax on goods and services need not condemn businesses to fragmented administration. Harmonised definitions, a common return, integrated registration, shared information and an agreed clearing mechanism can preserve provincial taxing authority while reducing compliance costs. Coordination is essential. Re-centralisation is not. Pakistan’s federation was not designed solely for administrative convenience. Article 160 of the Constitution protects the distribution of specified revenues between the Federation and provinces, while Article 140A requires devolution of political, administrative and financial responsibility to elected local governments.  Fiscal reform must strengthen all three levels of constitutional government rather than treating provinces and local bodies as spending agencies dependent upon federal discretion.  Ending taxation through labels A constitutional fiscal order must also respect the actual nature of each levy. Parliament cannot convert a provincial tax into a federal tax merely by attaching a different label. Nor can the executive create a new taxable event through rules, notifications or administrative directions where the legislature has not imposed one. Article 77 requires federal taxation to rest upon parliamentary authority. Articles 4, 24 and 25 bring legality, protection against arbitrary deprivation and equality into the same constitutional inquiry. Legislative enactment is indispensable, but enactment alone does not validate a levy that exceeds legislative competence, discriminates irrationally or denies due process.  The annual Finance Act should not be used as a container for major structural changes receiving limited parliamentary examination. Essential elements of a tax—the subject, person liable, measure, rate and taxable event—must be stated clearly in primary legislation. Delegated legislation may implement the law. It cannot become an alternative legislature. Expenditure is the other side of taxation The debate over Pakistan’s tax-to-GDP ratio often proceeds as though every additional rupee

I grew up in Rawalpindi Cantt, where my father served as the principal of St. Mary’s Cambridge High School. Though my professional journey has carried me across continents and I now reside in the United States, my heart beats unyielding rhythm with the 260 million Pakistanis who are my true country fellows. Every night in my dreams, I walk the familiar streets of Rawalpindi. I graduated from Islamabad Model College, and to this day, the majestic Margalla Hills grace the screen of my laptop as a constant reminder of home. As a young student, I stood with pride to sing our National Anthem: “Pak sar zamin shaad bad, Kishwar-e-hasin shad bad, Tu nishaan-e-azm-e-ali shaan, Arz-e-Pakistan! Markaz-e-yaqin shaad bad.” That sacred pledge of resolve, faith, and devotion remains embedded in my soul, driving my lifelong conviction in the destiny of our homeland. Over a professional career spanning three decades across Asia, Europe, Africa, North America, and Russia, I have observed the mechanics of statecraft, economic transformation, and human capital under diverse political systems. Through these global experiences, one reality has become undeniably clear: the Pakistani nation possesses an extraordinary, high-caliber intellectual capacity that matches—and frequently surpasses—the finest minds anywhere in the world. From the scientific and medical sectors in Europe to the dynamic technology ecosystems of the United States, Pakistani professionals consistently perform at the highest echelons of innovation, corporate leadership, medicine, engineering, and public service. United States Presidents have repeatedly and publicly commended the invaluable contributions of the vibrant Pakistani diaspora to American infrastructure, economic vitality, and technological advancement. When placed within transparent, rule-of-law-based systems, Pakistani talent routinely excels. The foundational problem facing Pakistan today is not a deficit of human intelligence or natural resources, but a deep-seated structural crisis within its governing institutions. The primary obstacle preventing Pakistan from realizing its true global standing is systemic corruption, the deliberate destruction of meritocracy, and a reckless deficit of vision among its political leadership. For decades, the national political landscape has been dominated by self-serving figures who lack both statesmanship and the basic literacy required to navigate the twenty-first century. We live in an era defined by artificial intelligence, digital economies, and high-tech governance, yet the traditional political leadership remains largely ignorant of technologies like AI, machine learning, and modern public administration. Their approach to power focuses heavily on short-term patronage, wealth accumulation, and personal preservation, while ignoring the core developmental needs of the population. This total lack of strategic vision directly fuels the socio-political unrest observed across key regions, including Azad Jammu & Kashmir, Balochistan, and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. The grievances in these areas are fundamentally economic and administrative, born from decades of neglect, broken promises, and predatory governance. Greedy political elites have consistently exploited local resources and suppressed institutional development, leaving local populations disenfranchised and impoverished. When regional populations are denied basic justice, modern infrastructure, quality education, and economic dignity, instability naturally follows. The issues facing these provinces cannot be resolved through superficial political arrangements or force alone. They demand genuine administrative devolution, economic fairness, and an absolute end to elite political exploitation. Pakistan’s growing population, rapid urbanization, and regional economic disparities further justify a serious evaluation of its overall administrative structure. Creating smaller, manageable administrative units or new provinces can bring government directly to the people. However, redrawing boundaries alone is not a magic solution. If corrupt practices, political interference, and weak institutional capacity persist, new administrative divisions will only multiply secretariats, ministries, and state expenditures without improving the daily lives of citizens. Any restructuring must be guided by objective criteria, rigorous economic planning, and transparent public participation, ensuring that power shifts completely down to local municipal and union council levels. To break the longstanding cycle of administrative decay, Pakistan requires an aggressive shift in its approach to governance and elite accountability. The country must adopt an uncompromising strategy similar to the Saudi Arabia model initiated by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS)—a decisive, systemic crackdown on institutional corruption and elite financial impunity. Every asset, real estate portfolio, and offshore account illegally acquired abroad by corrupt politicians, bureaucrats, and public officials must be systematically traced, frozen, and confiscated under international legal frameworks. Returning these stolen billions to the national treasury is not merely a moral imperative; it is an urgent economic necessity. A nation cannot thrive while its financial reserves are continuously drained to fund luxury lifestyles in foreign capitals. Achieving financial integrity and self-reliance is the essential prerequisite for building true national strength. History demonstrates that economic power is the absolute mother of military power and national sovereignty. No state can maintain a robust, modern defense apparatus over the long term without a self-sustaining economy, a strong currency, and a productive technological base. By recovering looted public wealth and redirecting it toward national infrastructure, energy independence, industrial output, and digital education, Pakistan can rapidly eliminate its dependence on foreign debt and assert its sovereignty on the global stage. True economic independence grants a nation unyielding leverage in international affairs. The path forward demands an urgent transition to AI-driven good governance and digital administration. Human discretion in public procurement, land record management, tax collection, customs clearance, and civil service recruitment must be systematically replaced with automated, algorithmic systems that eliminate bribery and political patronage. Artificial intelligence platforms can optimize public spending, track state resource distribution in real time, monitor civic projects, and guarantee complete transparency across every tier of government. When civil service recruitment, performance evaluations, and judicial tracking are governed by objective data frameworks rather than political influence, absolute meritocracy will return to state institutions. Furthermore, national development requires a structured investment in human capital. Establishing dedicated leadership academies and technical institutes will ensure that the next generation of public administrators is versed in high-tech policy design, data analytics, global trade dynamics, and financial management. Nations such as Singapore, South Korea, Estonia, and Rwanda have proven that rapid transformation does not require unlimited natural wealth. It demands disciplined execution, unyielding meritocracy, technologically integrated institutions, and transparent leadership.