Opinion

Foreign funding. Say those two words anywhere in Pakistan and watch the room go quiet. Say them in India this week and watch a whole government minister lose his job. Funny how the same phrase behaves so differently depending on which side of the border it lands on. Let us start with what happened in Delhi. Young people gathered under the banner of the Cockroach Janta Party. They protested against paper leaks in the NEET medical entrance exam. Police used batons. Some Indian voices claimed the protest was foreign funded, blaming Pakistan and mysterious outside money. Delhi police blocked hundreds of social media accounts linked to Pakistan, saying they were spreading a misleading campaign. A court petition even asked for an investigation into whether the protest was part of a larger foreign conspiracy. The protesters denied all of it. They said the movement began with more than two million students whose futures were shaken by exam irregularities. Political analysts backed them up too, saying the foreign conspiracy story gets pulled out every time young Indians get loud, whether it was the farmers’ movement or the citizenship law protests. This time the story did not stick. Even people inside the ruling party joined the protest, so the usual blame game lost its bite. Now bring the mirror to Pakistan. Here too, foreign funding is the favourite accusation of anyone who wants a protest silenced without answering its actual questions. And here, a special category exists. Indian funding and Jewish funding are treated like radioactive material. Mention either one, proven or not, and the conversation stops being about exam leaks or student rights and becomes about loyalty and conspiracy instead. It is a convenient trick. It lets institutions avoid explaining themselves. So here is the honest question worth sitting with. Where are our own protests? Cambridge examination papers, the ones sat by thousands of O and A Level students across Pakistan, have leaked multiple times in recent memory. Multiple times. Not once, not by accident, but repeatedly. And what followed? No sustained protest. No serious public inquiry that anyone can point to. No Jantar Mantar moment. Students who spent months preparing, whose merit and hard work were undercut by a leaked paper, largely absorbed the unfairness and moved on. Compare that to young Indians who stayed on the streets for ten straight days facing tear gas until a minister resigned. Then there is the PMDC advertisement mess, freshly reported by Minute Mirror. The Pakistan Medical and Dental Council published a public notice meant to guide students planning to study medicine abroad. Instead of guiding them, it confused them. The wording suggested that every Pakistani student headed abroad, even to Harvard or Cambridge, needed to clear the MDCAT exam first. Senator Anusha Rahman raised the alarm in a Senate committee meeting, pointing out that thousands of students aiming for universities in the UK, US, Canada and Australia were left anxious over a rule that turned out not to apply to them the way the advertisement implied. The PMDC president eventually admitted the wording needed review, and that the requirement was actually meant only for specific cases involving certain university rankings or flagged countries. A body meant to protect students ended up frightening them through careless drafting. And still, no march. No sit-in. No sustained public pressure demanding accountability for a mistake that could have derailed real academic plans. Indian students proved something important this week. Persistent, peaceful pressure can still move a government, even one that prefers to change the subject with conspiracy theories. Pakistani students have every reason to ask themselves why similar failures at home, paper leaks, unclear MDCAT policy, confusing regulatory advertisements, are met with silence instead of the same organised anger.

Pakistan today stands at a defining moment where acts of intolerance, hate speech, mob violence, sectarian divisions and ideological polarisation are increasingly visible across both physical and digital spaces. While not every expression of intolerance translates into terrorism, history demonstrates that violent extremism rarely appears overnight; it gradually develops through unchecked prejudice, manipulated narratives and the normalisation of hatred. Every incident of mob lynching, religious intolerance, political violence or online radicalisation serves as a reminder that extremism is fundamentally a societal challenge before it becomes a security challenge. This reality demands a fundamental shift in national thinking from merely controlling violent behaviour after it erupts to cultivating a culture of peace, critical thinking, social cohesion and democratic values that prevents extremism from taking root in the first place. The controlling approach has historically dominated Pakistan’s national security doctrine. Following the Army Public School tragedy in December 2014, the National Action Plan (NAP) became the country’s principal counterterrorism framework. Security operations such as Zarb-e-Azb and Radd-ul-Fasaad significantly weakened organised terrorist networks and restored the writ of the state in several conflict-affected regions. These achievements cannot be underestimated. However, extremism is not merely a security problem; it is a social, psychological, educational and communication challenge. Arresting militants may eliminate immediate threats, but it does not necessarily eliminate the narratives, grievances and social environments that produce future extremists. Modern countering violent extremism (CVE) literature increasingly supports prevention over reaction. International experience from countries such as Indonesia, Singapore, Denmark and Morocco demonstrates that sustainable peace emerges through education reforms, community engagement, youth empowerment, digital literacy, responsible religious discourse and economic inclusion. Pakistan itself has gradually begun recognising this shift. The recently approved National Prevention of Violent Extremism (NPVE) Policy reflects an important transition from exclusively kinetic responses towards prevention, rehabilitation and resilience-building. The policy introduces a comprehensive prevention framework emphasising community participation, education, strategic communication, rehabilitation and institutional coordination. At the federal level, the National Counter Terrorism Authority (NACTA) remains Pakistan’s principal coordinating institution for counterterrorism and counter-extremism policies. Established under the NACTA Act 2013, its mandate extends beyond intelligence coordination to include research, policy development, monitoring the National Action Plan, public awareness, strategic communication and prevention of violent extremism. During the past two years, NACTA has expanded partnerships with universities, international organisations and civil society. It has launched the National Prevention of Violent Extremism Policy, strengthened monitoring mechanisms, promoted research through the Pakistan Journal of Terrorism Research, signed academic partnerships and introduced public engagement initiatives such as peace festivals and youth outreach programmes. Despite these encouraging developments, NACTA continues to face structural limitations that reduce its overall effectiveness. Institutional coordination between federal and provincial stakeholders remains inconsistent. Budgetary constraints, staffing shortages and overlapping mandates with provincial Counter Terrorism Departments often weaken implementation. Many of its policy recommendations remain stronger on paper than in practice because execution depends upon provincial governments. Furthermore, public visibility of NACTA remains limited. Most Pakistani citizens know little about its preventive work, despite the fact that ideological resilience requires continuous public engagement rather than bureaucratic coordination alone. Independent researchers have similarly concluded that Pakistan’s transition towards non-kinetic counter-extremism is promising but still constrained by implementation deficits and institutional fragmentation. Punjab has taken a significant institutional step by establishing the Punjab Centre of Excellence on Countering Violent Extremism (CoE-CVE), which recently received autonomous legal status through provincial legislation. The decision reflects an important understanding that violent extremism cannot be addressed solely through policing. The Centre has been designed to function as a policy, research, training and coordination platform supporting prevention, community resilience and strategic communication. Its transformation into an autonomous institution is expected to strengthen institutional continuity, inter-agency coordination and evidence-based policymaking. The Centre represents one of Pakistan’s most important experiments in moving from control towards cultivation. Instead of focusing exclusively on arrests and surveillance, it aims to understand why individuals become vulnerable to extremist narratives in the first place. Universities, educational institutions, media organisations, religious scholars, psychologists and community leaders are increasingly recognised as partners in prevention rather than passive observers. This multidisciplinary philosophy aligns with global best practices, where prevention begins in classrooms, families, workplaces and digital platforms long before security agencies become involved. Nevertheless, the Punjab Centre of Excellence also faces considerable challenges. Being a relatively new institution, measurable outcomes remain limited. Much of its work has concentrated on institutional development, stakeholder engagement and policy formulation rather than long-term behavioural impact. Evaluating prevention programmes presents an inherent methodological challenge because successful prevention often means that negative events never occur. Unlike policing statistics, cultivation outcomes such as increased social cohesion, reduced intolerance or strengthened democratic resilience require longitudinal research and sophisticated impact measurement. Pakistan’s educational system presents another critical weakness. Schools continue to prioritise examination performance while giving limited attention to civic education, media literacy, conflict resolution, emotional intelligence and critical thinking. Extremist organisations thrive where young people lack analytical skills and become vulnerable to simplified narratives dividing society into absolute categories of believers and enemies. A cultivation approach therefore requires curriculum reforms encouraging dialogue, diversity, constitutional values and peaceful disagreement. The digital environment further complicates Pakistan’s counter-extremism landscape. Radicalisation increasingly occurs through encrypted messaging applications, algorithm-driven social media platforms and transnational online networks. Traditional security institutions cannot effectively monitor every digital interaction. Instead, digital resilience must be cultivated among citizens themselves. Media literacy programmes teaching young people to identify misinformation, hate speech, manipulation and extremist propaganda should become integral components of educational policy. Economic marginalisation also deserves attention. Poverty alone does not create terrorists, but unemployment, social exclusion and limited upward mobility increase vulnerability to recruitment by extremist organisations offering identity, purpose and financial incentives. Pakistan’s youth bulge therefore represents both an opportunity and a risk. If properly educated, employed and politically included, young Pakistanis can become the country’s greatest peacebuilders. If neglected, the same demographic may remain susceptible to polarisation and radical narratives. Political polarisation constitutes another growing concern. Public discourse increasingly rewards confrontation over consensus. Television debates, social media campaigns and partisan rhetoric often

The subject idea of “Road To The East” is conceived by me by a textbook when the store Marco polo was described a story with a title of road to the east. The fascination of culture is everywhere especially, within the walled city of Kashi which is located comparatively on a high altitude like a natural fort. As this area from central east was under the invasion of different ethnic communities in the past. I got a chance to walk through the downtown streets which are relatively wider than the downtown streets of Lahore. The construction of the houses is also showing its beauty and culture with their traditions. Now the walled city have totally been preserved by the Chinese government and as I mentioned the tourism have become one of the most important growing industry in the region. The most famous place historically in this region is called Eig Gah. That is this famous mosque was built during the fifteenth century with the capacity of 20,000 people, can offer a prayer within the, inside of compound. While there is a huge yard outside of this compound which is the center of an attraction for all the tourists. Vice President Pakistan-China Joint Chamber There was a camel ride for the tourist attraction and these camels are special, only found in the Gobie desert, with two humps. These kind of camels are also an iconic symbol of China same as panda. It was also arranged a horse ride for the tourist who love to have a picture by riding at the back of the horse. At one time, in this area, the horses were used to have mainly without saddles. The local people are very fond of music, almost every coffee house have the people to play the traditional music, as their tradition music is with the history of hundreds of years. Duff is one of a very important part of their music playing with one instrument called Algoza. Always with the musicians, there is a singer playing the ancient music even though I did not understand the meaning but I got to know that this was mainly related with the stories of their local warriors. The conventional tea houses normally have their dance performance showing heir culture and dance skill. That all is very amazing. I love to watch that performance in different tea shops. Now, the culture have expended in different restaurants where not only girls but also men perform their traditional dance. I hope we can be able to arrange a cultural linkage between the cities of Lahore and Kashgar. All that modern restaurants are very beautiful, a clean and rich with their construction style. The waiters always dressed up like a female servant serving in the royale courts. Most of them are very beautiful to pass an impression of a royale age. Food of Kashgar (Kashi) is very traditional and tasty. The local people are really lamb lovers. You can find halal food in every corner of Kashi. Where you never need to ask the food quality is halal or not. Despite that, I have experienced the most lamb served in all over China is mostly done by the Muslims. The horse meat is one of the traditional delicacy of this region. But normally in our society we refrain to eat it. Camel milk is served as a soveigner to all the visitors. It was my first time to experience the camel milk. Most of the Xinjiang due the weather is dry and the rainfall is very limited. Despite of this all, Xinjiang is very rich for its fruit production in recent years. Chinese government have paid a lot of attention to improve the agriculture and food industry. This have helped a lot for the locals to improve their life standard. The government have paid a special attention to develop an agricultural farming industry in this region.   Walnut once it was used to exported from Pakistan to China but the border trade now have become an iconic product of Yecheng, is normally called as the capital of walnuts. They have also developed a technology to cultivate pomegranate in a sandy surface. I really hope under the BRI agriculture, is one of the major subject in Pakistan. Can we be able to get an experience from China that how they converted their barren lands into green fields. This is my proposal to the green initiative Pakistan, is that they are willing to improve their yield capability by the technology that have already been successful in the similar environment. Pakistan with its huge barren land along with the Gilgit city which can be experienced by using the technology already existing in this region. Mines and minerals is one of biggest subject that we need to pay attention. Till today, we are not been able to address our natural resources in to a successive model. I have observed to Pakistan side is full of natural resources with mines and minerals while the other sider of the border have already established the biggest units of processing. My advice to our provincial government of Gilgit Baltistan that why they don’t take an opportunity as China is already a friendly country with Pakistan, with a will of the transfer of technology. That means this can change the entire financial position of this region. We feel there is a lack with the technology of preservation of food and fruits. GB as a basket of the fruits, is not able to perform its strength where there are a lot of chances to earn a technology or going for a joint venture to improve the life standard of locals.

When rain descends from the folds of clouds, it assumes the form of divine mercy for the earth—reviving parched soil and spreading smiles across the weary faces of farmers. Yet, when this very rain turns unbridled and the administrative apparatus built to welcome it pulls a heavy shroud of negligence over its eyes, this descent of mercy transforms into a harrowing shape of torment and sudden calamity. Gujrat, a historic and industrial city of Punjab that holds a unique global identity through its civilizational expanse, skilled artisans, and proximity to the Chenab River, presents the terrifying spectacle of a pond and a swamp every monsoon season. Here, urban flooding is no longer merely a climatic accident; rather, it has become a chilling confession of administrative apathy, unscientific planning, and a criminal denial of historical geographical realities. When the hydrological management of cities is evaluated on a global scale, the concepts of “Sponge Cities” are put into practice, but our reality stands in stark opposition. When the state of urban drainage in Gujrat is objectively reviewed through the corridors of history, one’s eyes are opened to the bitter truth that the rulers and elements who dominated this city consciously hollowed out its roots at every level for the gratification of greed. The city’s drainage and sewerage system, in particular, fell prey to the plunder of commission agents belonging to the corruption mafia. It is an immensely agonizing chapter of history that two decades ago, when a renowned international Japanese company completed a detailed survey of Gujrat, officially announced its complete reconstruction on modern lines, and promised a world-class drainage system, the hungry brokers sitting in the echelons of power burnt this magnificent project in the fire of personal lust. The people of Gujrat can never forget the actors who sacrificed the Japanese company’s dream at the altar of kickbacks. Later, when times changed and Chaudhry Pervaiz Elahi assumed the helm of this region as Chief Minister, he released heavy, voluminous funds amounting to billions of rupees to radically improve and modernize Gujrat’s decrepit and worn-out drainage system. Yet the tragedy was that these billions of rupees in Gujrat’s history remained restricted to a few specific and powerful pockets, and to openly divide these funds, the entire system was mortgaged to a fostered contractor mafia. With an exceptionally substandard, superficial, and unprofessional approach, this mafia played a game of window-dressing that instead of fixing Gujrat’s sewerage system, ruined it permanently and turned the entire city into an artificial swamp. Today, the agony of drainage dancing through the city’s streets and roads offers no hope of deliverance from this terrifying urban flood unless a severe accountability of these true, deceitful culprits is carried out. The political leadership that followed also made efforts suited to their respective statures for the betterment of the city; and although their own technical errors consistently hampered this improvement, every resident of Gujrat continues to carry the heavy burden of those primary sinners who devastated Gujrat’s history, civilization, and urbanity. Last year, when urban flooding once again descended upon the city as a mortal torment, uproar echoed everywhere, the wheel of life halted, and the situation reached a point where the Chief Minister of Punjab had to personally make an emergency visit to Gujrat to rescue the district administration from this storm of incompetence. During this visit, a heavy downpour of announcements and promises took place, accompanied by the release of special funds worth billions for complete and sustainable improvement next year. Despite the sincere efforts and financial provisions of Honorable Maryam Nawaz Sharif, the district administration—entrenched in a colonial mindset—spent all its energies throughout the year on personal image-building and photo sessions rather than the timely completion of this vital sewerage project. As ill luck would have it, as soon as the monsoon season arrived once again this year, the colorful balloon of good governance and claims deflated entirely, exposing the bitter reality that this malaise of flawed planning persists and rainwater continues to rain down as a torment upon citizens’ lives. And when this rainwater has already devastated citizens’ lives, wounding their homes and businesses, only then do the traditional efforts of WASA and district institutions begin to bear fruit, with water finally receding from the streets after prolonged suffering. Success drums are then beaten over this very temporary performance, adding salt to the injuries of the citizens. A profound study of Gujrat’s urban geography reveals that its foundations and topography are deeply embedded in its centuries-old historical backdrop. Built during the Mughal era, the Akbari Fort serves as the greatest metaphor for the region’s military, political, and administrative history. Viewed from a geographical and topographical standpoint, the Akbari Fort is situated on a relatively high mound or plateau, and the city’s older structural layout spreads outward from this height in gradual slopes in all directions. Principally and naturally, this elevation of the fort and the surrounding natural slopes should have stood as an exceptional geographical blessing for a drainage system—provided the natural pathways of water flow had been preserved and left unmolested by grotesque tampering. The tragedy, however, is that over time, unbridled urban expansion and a flood of encroachments mutilated this natural sloping system so ruthlessly that today, that very height and slope have turned into a bane for the city. Unchecked commercialization and illegal constructions in and around the Akbari Fort and its adjoining low-lying areas have blocked all traditional water routes in such a manner that water finds no outlet. The consequence is that when rainwater flows down from the elevated parts of the fort, instead of finding an open path or paved drain ahead, it encounters dead alleys, narrow sewage pipelines, and an endless siege of encroachments. Consequently, this water accumulates in lower regions to form a permanent lake, leaving city residents weeping over their helplessness. Gujrat’s tragedy is not merely the accumulation of rainwater; it is a reflection of that collective apathy and corruption which wakes up with the arrival

No one illustrates the laws of Physics better than human beings themselves. Entropy is not confined to laboratories and equations; it is lived through lives, societies, and relationships, steadily nudging order toward disorder. Entropy, in simple words, is a scientific measure of disorder and randomness. It shows how things naturally progress from order to chaos. Besides randomness, it is the tendency of systems to move toward greater multiplicity of possible states.   According to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the entropy of an isolated system always tends to increase. A human being, when he evolves through childhood and moves toward adulthood, becomes more random and chaotic. He does not merely accumulate years; he gathers contradictions.   His lived experiences shape his idea of life, leaving behind a psychological residue. The feelings that he experienced for the very first time in the past become a source of discomfort as time passes. As a child, he thinks little and inquires more out of curiosity. In short, the knowledge he gained came through curiosity. But knowledge always comes at a cost. Things that fascinate us a lot turn into something that we dread a lot. As we acquire knowledge, we become aware of complexities that were always present but invisible to us.   As a child, our worldview seems simple: people are either good or bad; dreams are achievable; friends are eternal; relationships are loyal and life moves between white and black. As we grow older, the order is disrupted. A rise in consciousness awakens us to multiple contradictions, uncertainties, anxieties, grief and losses. We learn that truth is ambiguous and subjective; morality is situational; relationships are fragile; certainty is rare and life lives in the grey zone.     It is no mistake to say that human consciousness itself produces existential entropy and expands internal contradictions and multiplies possibilities. The more we know, the less certain we become. Every choice restricts us. Every decision prepares us for consequences. Every loss reshapes our understanding of love. Every truth complicates identity and brings more uncertainty. Every new experience creates new interpretations.   Here comes the importance of meaning in life. Having been surrounded by disorder and chaos, our minds look for a safe space: less entropic and more purposeful. In other words, entropy is not just a physics metaphor. It is reason that pushes humans to find an anchor in topsy-turvy life. It’s more like providing moorings to the ship that is left at the mercy of aggressive waves.   Now a question comes to mind: how do humans resist the uncertainties created by the expansion of consciousness? The answer is meaning, but its discovery could be different in philosophical terms. Existentialists, such as Jean Paul Sartre, believe that purpose is constructive and built upon the choices presented to us by expanding consciousness.   Albert Camus’ philosophy argues that we embrace life’s absurdity by revolting against it instead of surrendering to it. It means we have to continue living passionately and consciously while being aware of life’s realities.   Viktor Frankl, in his book Man’s Search for Meaning, presents a different perspective on meaning as a “response” to suffering. He called suffering an inevitable and inexplicable part of human life. Humans can endure almost any suffering if they discover a reason for it. In this situation, meaning acts like “negative entropy” as it does not eliminate suffering but arranges it into a narrative that can be endured.   Frankl also argued the concept of “logotherapy” in his book, believing that man’s primary drive is to find something meaningful instead of seeking happiness or pleasure. Still others think that if we voluntarily shoulder the responsibility, we can lay the foundation of habitable order amid chaos.   From my viewpoint, every meaning, whether small or big, is worth pursuing if it only fulfils you. The nature and timing of meaning could be different, but one thing is certain: in this world, entropy will persist. The purpose of meaning is not to defeat entropy but to resist it and make it bearable. Our lives have been the accumulation of experiences, interpretations, complexities, and uncertainties. Any moment shared with loved ones, every act of love, every truth pursued, every responsibility accepted and every desire followed becomes a source of stability against life’s expanding uncertainty. Meaning does not eliminate entropy. It is humanity’s rebellion against it.

The most pitiable creature I know is not the beggar who asks for bread but the gentleman who must borrow a personality. He dresses in another man’s taste, speaks in another man’s phrases and mistakes imitation for refinement. He is everywhere respectable and nowhere original. Nations occasionally acquire the same unfortunate habit. Their politics become echoes, their ideals reflections, and their revolutions little more than borrowed costumes. There was a time when borrowing was the necessity of poverty. We borrowed machines because we had no factories, medicines because we had no laboratories, and books because we had no presses. Such borrowing was neither shameful nor unusual; indeed, civilisation itself advances through exchange. The Greeks borrowed from Egypt, the Arabs preserved and enlarged the inheritance of Greece, Europe rediscovered Aristotle through Muslim Spain, and Japan modernised by learning from the West without surrendering its soul. Borrowing knowledge is the beginning of wisdom. Borrowing identity is the beginning of decline. There is another form of borrowing that no customs official can intercept and no tariff can discourage. It enters silently through the imagination. A society begins by borrowing opinions, then aspirations, then indignation. Before long, it borrows its heroes, its villains, its vocabulary and, eventually, its revolutions. It ceases to ask, “What does our history require?” and instead asks, “Whose history should we imitate?” That, I fear, is the predicament into which much of Pakistan’s public discourse has drifted. During the past several weeks, social media has been flooded with admiration for the recent political resistance witnessed across the border in India. Video clips have travelled faster than thoughtful analysis. Slogans have crossed the Wagah frontier with greater ease than ideas. Among countless young Pakistanis one question has become almost fashionable, Why can’t Pakistan have a movement like this? The question is understandable. It is also profoundly revealing. Hidden within it is an assumption that our political future must resemble somebody else’s present; that history unfolds according to a universal script; that every nation matures by repeating the experience of another. It is an assumption born not of confidence but of intellectual dependency. The tragedy, therefore, is not that Pakistanis admire another people’s courage. Every decent society can appreciate courage wherever it appears. The tragedy is that many have become convinced that courage itself must now be imported. We seem increasingly unable to recognise our own political inheritance unless it first receives foreign approval. This habit is hardly confined to politics. It has become the defining condition of our intellectual life. We borrow theories from European universities before examining our own social realities. We borrow ideological fashions from America before asking whether they illuminate Pakistani society. We borrow debates from social media and mistake them for scholarship. We consume outrage manufactured elsewhere and wear it as though it were tailored for our own circumstances. We have become, in the deepest sense of the phrase, tenants in the house of our own imagination. The irony is painful. No civilisation lacking confidence in itself has ever become creative. Creation begins where imitation ends. Shakespeare borrowed stories but produced Hamlet. Iqbal studied Nietzsche and Bergson yet remained unmistakably Iqbal. Muhammad Ali Jinnah mastered the constitutional traditions of Britain but transformed them into a political movement rooted in the aspirations of Indian Muslims. Great minds borrow raw material; they do not borrow finished identities. The same principle governs nations. Civilisations borrow in order to create. Declining societies borrow in order to imitate. Perhaps nowhere is this confusion more visible than in our understanding of resistance. Resistance has become one of the most romantic words in modern political vocabulary. It evokes images of heroic crowds, defiant slogans, dramatic confrontations and triumphant victories. Social media, with its appetite for spectacle, has transformed resistance into a global performance. Every protest becomes a cinematic narrative; every confrontation seeks an audience; every slogan aspires to immortality through a hashtag. But history is not written in hashtags. Nor are nations transformed by theatrical moments alone. The anthropologist Leila Abu-Lughod offered an important warning nearly three decades ago in her influential essay The Romance of Resistance. She argued that scholars often romanticise resistance as though every act of opposition were inherently emancipatory. Such a view, she suggested, ignores the complex relationships of power, culture and history within which resistance acquires meaning. Acts of dissent cannot be detached from the societies that produce them. They are rooted in particular institutions, historical memories and cultural conditions. Her insight deserves careful attention today. To ask why Pakistan does not produce resistance identical to India’s is rather like asking why the Indus refuses to flow like the Ganges. Rivers obey their own geography. Nations obey their own history. Every meaningful political movement is shaped by its unique historical circumstances. The French Revolution emerged from fiscal collapse and aristocratic privilege. The American Revolution arose from disputes over representation and imperial authority. South Africa’s democratic transition was forged in the struggle against apartheid. None of these experiences can simply be photocopied for another society. History does not distribute identical examinations to different nations. Each country answers its own questions. Yet we continue searching for borrowed answers. Perhaps this is because borrowed revolutions are emotionally satisfying. They spare us the difficult labour of self-examination. It is always easier to admire another nation’s struggle than to confront the unfinished responsibilities of our own. Admiration demands nothing. Citizenship demands everything. That distinction has become blurred in contemporary Pakistan. Our public imagination has fallen in love with the romance of beginning anew. Every few years another movement captures our attention. We invest it with almost mythical expectations. We hope it will accomplish what institutions, constitutions and patient political reform have failed to achieve. We long for redemption through spectacle. But mature nations are not built upon permanent excitement. They are built upon permanent institutions. Hannah Arendt observed in On Revolution that the enduring achievement of successful revolutions lies not in the destruction of an old order but in the establishment of a

The second part of this series explained why public finance and Constitutional Political Economy (CPE) ask different questions. Public finance ordinarily examines what taxes governments should impose and how revenue should be spent. CPE asks who makes those choices, under what rules, for whose benefit and subject to what restraints. That distinction leads to an important conclusion: there is no politically neutral tax system. Tax policy is often presented as a technical exercise. Economists compare direct and indirect taxes, estimate elasticity, calculate effective rates and recommend reforms intended to improve efficiency. Governments describe exemptions as incentives, withholding provisions as enforcement mechanisms and consumption taxes as instruments of broad-based revenue mobilisation. Such terminology creates the impression that taxation operates independently of political power. It does not. Every tax decision identifies those who will pay, those who will collect, those who will receive concessions and those whose activities will remain beyond effective enforcement. A tax may be neutral between two products in an economic model, but the process through which it is enacted and administered can rarely be neutral between organised interests, social classes or political constituencies. The Organisation of Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) itself recognises that taxes affect taxpayers differently according to their income and other socio-economic characteristics. They alter behaviour and influence the distribution of income both directly and through the public expenditure they finance. Taxation is, thus, not merely a device for transferring money to the treasury. It changes economic opportunities and affects the relationship between citizen and state. The celebrated Mirrlees Review sought to design a coherent tax system in which similar activities were treated consistently, and economic choices were not distorted without good reason. This is a valuable objective. Neutrality can reduce arbitrary discrimination and prevent tax considerations from dominating productive decisions. Nevertheless, even the most carefully designed system must decide which activities are alike, which differences justify special treatment and how equity should be balanced against efficiency. Those choices necessarily embody judgments about society. The idea of neutrality becomes more problematic when it is transferred from theory to a state characterised by unequal political influence. Consider a general sales tax (GST). In theory, a broad-based value added tax (VAT) imposed at a uniform rate minimises distortions and preserves the chain of documentation. In practice, exemptions, reduced rates, special schedules, fixed taxes, withholding taxes (unique in Pakistan even for VAT/GST!) and sector-specific arrangements are introduced during the political process. The final statute may bear little resemblance to the neutral instrument initially proposed. The same is true of income tax. Horizontal equity requires persons with similar ability to pay to bear comparable burdens. Vertical equity requires those possessing greater capacity to contribute more. In Pakistan, however, the legal character assigned to income often determines the burden more decisively than the taxpayer’s actual economic capacity. Salary, business income, capital gains, dividends, property income and agricultural income may all be subjected to different regimes, rates or jurisdictions. These distinctions are not always indefensible. Different types of income may require different collection methods. The constitutional distribution of taxing powers must also be respected. However, a CPE analysis asks why particular differences survive, who benefits from them and whether their stated rationale corresponds to their actual effect. Tax exemptions provide the clearest illustration. Governments describe them as instruments for attracting investment, supporting industries, protecting vulnerable groups or promoting exports. Some concessions may serve legitimate public purposes. Others constitute expenditure conducted through the tax system without the scrutiny ordinarily applied to direct spending. Pakistan’s official Tax Expenditure Report 2026 estimated revenue forgone during fiscal year 2024–25 through income tax, sales tax and customs concessions at approximately Rs. 2.353 trillion (excluding sales tax on POL products to deprive provinces of their constitutional right, replacing it with petroleum levy). Of this amount, sales tax concessions accounted for about Rs. 1.274 trillion, income tax concessions for Rs. 579.70 billion and customs concessions for Rs. 499.14 billion. These are not accounting curiosities. They represent choices about which persons, sectors and transactions receive preferential treatment, and which taxpayers must bear the resulting revenue burden. A concession granted through the tax law is economically similar to public expenditure. If the state collects Rs. 100 from a citizen and transfers it to an industry, the transaction appears in the budget. If the state allows that industry to retain Rs. 100 that would otherwise have been payable, the distributive effect may be comparable, but the benefit is less visible. This opacity is politically useful. Direct subsidies attract public attention and legislative scrutiny. Tax concessions are buried in schedules, exemptions and statutory notifications. Their beneficiaries are often concentrated and organised, while the cost is dispersed across millions of taxpayers and consumers. Constitutional Political Economy explains why such arrangements persist. A concentrated group has a strong incentive to lobby for a benefit worth billions of rupees. Each member of the general public, bearing only a fraction of the cost, has little incentive or capacity to oppose it. What appears to be an anomaly in tax design may be the predictable result of unequal political organisation. Withholding taxation presents another example. It is defended as an efficient method of collecting revenue from an economy with weak compliance. In limited circumstances, deduction/collection at source is entirely justified. Salary taxation (pay roll taxes) and payments to non-residents commonly require withholding systems in many jurisdictions. Pakistan, however, has transformed withholding from a collection technique into a parallel tax regime. According to the Revenue Division Year Book 2024–25, withholding taxes contributed 60 percent of total income tax collection in that year. Collection through withholding reached approximately Rs. 3.382 trillion. This reliance changes the institutional character of income taxation. The tax administration increasingly obtains revenue from transactions rather than determining taxpayers’ actual net income and ability to pay. Banks, employers, utilities, property registrars, businesses and other intermediaries become unpaid tax collectors. Persons already operating within the documented economy bear recurring deductions/collections in advance, compliance costs and the burden of seeking adjustments or refunds (hardly allowed automatically in

If a protest is peaceful, does not create problems for the public, and remains free of violence, it is a basic human right. In fact, protest is a sign of a living society. Dead people cannot protest or resist. Unfortunately, in our society, the protests of ordinary and poor people are often looked down upon, even though every protest should be judged on its own merits. People often complain that today’s generation is not as good as the previous one. But history shows that every older generation has made the same complaint about its youth. Even centuries ago, elders believed that young people had lost their values. Times have changed, but this mindset has remained the same. I believe that every new generation brings something better than the one before it. Today’s young people have access to knowledge in ways that no previous generation could have imagined. The internet and artificial intelligence have placed the world’s knowledge within everyone’s reach. As a result, today’s youth are more informed, more curious, and more aware. This is exactly what can be seen in the recent **Generation Z protests in India**. These young people are presenting their demands in a calm and respectful manner. Their speeches are based on logic rather than emotion. Whether boys or girls, they explain their concerns with confidence and reason. According to the protesters, **152 examination papers have leaked over the past ten years**, affecting nearly **70 million students**. They believe that Education Minister **Dharmendra Pradhan** should take responsibility and resign. They are demanding reforms in the education system, action against police officers who used force on students, medical treatment for the injured, the release of arrested protesters, and the withdrawal of cases filed against them. One female student said that their movement should not be turned into a Hindu-Muslim issue. She explained that her closest friend is Muslim and that religion has never come between them. According to her, the real issues are education, employment, and a better future—not religious divisions. She also argued that public money should be spent on schools and hospitals instead of fueling religious politics. Another young protester remarked that India’s two prominent leaders, Prime Minister Modi and Yogi Adityanath, do not have children of their own, so they may not fully understand the struggles faced by students and young people. Some protesters also mocked allegations that they were receiving funding from Pakistan or China. Holding packets of chips and spices, they jokingly referred to them as their “Pakistani funding,” using humor to challenge what they described as baseless accusations. The movement has not relied only on slogans. Students have also used songs, poetry, and creative performances to express their message. In some places, however, clashes with the police have occurred. The movement traces its origins to remarks made by **Justice Surya Kant** of the Supreme Court of India, who reportedly compared some unemployed young people to “cockroaches” during a court hearing. Many students felt insulted by the comment, which eventually led to the formation of the **Cockroach Janata Party** protest movement. The movement focuses on issues such as examination paper leaks, unemployment, and reforms in the education system. Among its well-known figures are **Abhijit Deepke** and **Sonam Wangchuk**. Wangchuk carried out a 26-day hunger strike before being taken into custody and moved to a hospital. What began in Delhi has gradually spread to other cities across India. Reports indicate that police have used baton charges, tear gas, and water cannons against demonstrators. Several international human rights organizations have expressed concern over the use of force against peaceful protesters. The students argue that India is the world’s largest democracy and that the right to peaceful protest must be protected rather than suppressed. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has announced that cases involving examination paper leaks will be referred to fast-track courts and that those responsible will face strict action. However, many protesters believe that promises alone are not enough and that concrete reforms are needed. History has shown that governments often underestimate public movements in their early stages. If legitimate concerns are ignored, such movements can grow into much larger crises, as has happened in several countries in the past. If the demands of these young people are genuine and reasonable, the government should engage with them directly, listen to their concerns, and reform the education system where necessary. If officials have failed in their responsibilities, they should be held accountable. A strong democracy is one that listens to peaceful voices instead of trying to silence them.

By Kinza Fatima On 19 August 2021, seven-year-old Priya Kumari disappeared from a shrine in Sindh. Years later, her family is still waiting for answers. Her disappearance became more than a missing-person case; it became a painful reminder of how easily a child’s sense of safety can disappear. Every time another child is harmed, exploited, or neglected, Pakistan is reminded that protecting childhood remains an unfinished responsibility. Every child deserves to wake up with a sense of safety. Childhood should be filled with learning, laughter, curiosity, and play—not fear, uncertainty, or loss. Yet for far too many children in Pakistan, these simple expectations remain fragile. The disappearance of Priya Kumari in Sindh in 2021 remains one of the country’s most painful incident of how vulnerable children can be. Years have passed, but her family continues to wait for answers. Beyond the legal questions lies a deeper human one: what does it say about a society when a child can disappear and hope becomes the only thing left behind? Safety is not threatened only by crime. It is also undermined by neglect. Tragic incidents involving collapsing school buildings and unsafe infrastructure have claimed the lives of children whose only purpose that day was to learn. A classroom should nurture dreams, not become a place of tragedy. Safe buildings, clean classrooms, access to drinking water, and basic emergency measures are not luxuries—they are the minimum conditions every child deserves. Extreme heat presents another challenge. Across Pakistan, rising temperatures have turned many classrooms into difficult places for learning. Schools without fans, proper ventilation, or clean drinking water place children at risk of dehydration, exhaustion, and heat-related illness. Education cannot flourish where basic physical well-being is ignored. A healthy childhood extends beyond the classroom. Children need parks, playgrounds, libraries, and public spaces where they can grow socially and emotionally. In many communities, these spaces are absent or unsafe. When children spend their lives confined indoors because the outside world feels dangerous, society loses more than recreation—it loses opportunities for confidence, creativity, and community. We often repeat that children are the future of the nation. Yet such words have little meaning unless they are reflected in public policy and everyday behaviour. The measure of a society is not found in the promises it makes to children, but in the conditions in which it asks them to grow. As a child myself, my dreams are not extraordinary. I want to wear my school uniform without fear, learn with my classmates, drink clean water, play in safe parks, and believe that tomorrow can be better than today. These are not unrealistic hopes; they are fundamental rights. Children also deserve protection within their own homes. For many, however, home is not always a place of security. Physical punishment, verbal humiliation, and emotional neglect leave wounds that are often invisible but long-lasting. Violence against children, whether physical or psychological, cannot be accepted as discipline. Respect and care build stronger individuals than fear ever can. Child labour remains another painful reality. Instead of carrying schoolbags, thousands of children carry bricks, tools, and heavy loads. Poverty pushes many families into impossible choices, but the burden should never fall on the child. Governments must strengthen social protection, expand access to quality education, and support vulnerable families so that children are not forced to sacrifice their childhood for survival. Ending child labour is not solely the responsibility of the state; it also requires the commitment of parents, employers, schools, and society as a whole. Children also deserve dignity wherever they seek knowledge. Allegations of abuse in educational institutions, including some madrasas and schools, remind us that no place of learning should become a place of fear. Every institution entrusted with children carries a moral and legal responsibility to protect them. When I see children my own age struggling with violence, poverty, exploitation, or neglect, I do not simply feel sympathy—I wonder why childhood is experienced so differently depending on where one is born or how much one’s family earns. No child chooses these circumstances, yet many live with their consequences every day. The children of Pakistan are not asking for extraordinary privileges. We ask for what every child should receive: safety, education, dignity, health, and the freedom to dream. We need teachers who inspire rather than humiliate, communities that protect rather than ignore, and institutions that place the well-being of children above everything else. Children are not a source of cheap labour, nor are they objects upon which adults can release their anger. We are learners, dreamers, citizens in the making, and the future of this country. A safe childhood is not an act of charity. It is a constitutional, moral, and human obligation. If Pakistan wishes to build a stronger future, it must begin by listening to the voices of its children—and by ensuring that every child has not only the right to dream, but also the opportunity to live those dreams. The writer is a children’s right Advocate and student of Tenth Grade.

Across the world, a quiet but powerful realization has taken hold among policymakers, educators, and security experts alike: the battle against extremism and terrorism cannot be won through force alone. It must be won in classrooms, community centers, sports fields, and digital spaces where young people spend their formative years. Youth, who make up more than half the population in many developing nations including Pakistan, represent both the greatest vulnerability and the greatest opportunity in this struggle. When disenfranchised, unemployed, and disillusioned, young people become easy targets for radical recruiters who promise purpose, belonging, and revenge for perceived injustices. But when engaged, educated, and empowered, that same demographic becomes the most formidable wall against violent ideologies. The logic is simple yet often ignored by policymakers fixated on military and law enforcement solutions. Extremist organizations have long understood that idle, aggrieved youth are their most fertile recruiting ground. Poverty, lack of education, unemployment, and a sense of alienation from mainstream society create psychological vacuums that radical narratives rush to fill. Counterterrorism strategies that ignore this reality and rely solely on kinetic operations may eliminate individual militants but do nothing to stop the conveyor belt producing new recruits. A zero-tolerance approach to extremism must therefore be twofold: uncompromising against violence itself, while simultaneously investing heavily in prevention through youth engagement. Several nations offer instructive models. Indonesia, home to the world’s largest Muslim population, faced a serious extremist threat in the early 2000s following the Bali bombings. Rather than relying exclusively on security crackdowns, the government partnered with religious scholars and civil society organizations to run De radicalization programs specifically targeting young former militants and at-risk youth. These programs combined vocational training, religious counter-messaging, and psychological support, helping thousands reintegrate into society while simultaneously building a broader national narrative of moderate, tolerant Islam that appealed to younger generations disillusioned with violent rhetoric. Denmark’s Aarhus Model, developed to address the flow of young citizens joining the Islamic State in Syria, similarly emphasized rehabilitation over pure punishment for youth who had not committed serious crimes. Mentorship programs paired returning young people with community figures, psychologists, and former extremists who had themselves walked away from radical ideologies. The approach recognized that shame and exclusion often push vulnerable youth further toward extremist communities that offer unconditional acceptance, whereas structured reintegration paired with firm legal consequences for actual violence creates pathways back to mainstream society. The United Kingdom’s Prevent strategy, despite facing criticism over profiling concerns, demonstrated the value of embedding counter-extremism awareness within schools and universities, training teachers to recognize early warning signs of radicalization and intervene before ideological commitment hardens. Meanwhile, Nigeria’s response to Boko Haram insurgency increasingly incorporated youth-focused economic empowerment programs in the northeast, recognizing that widespread poverty and lack of opportunity in the region had been ruthlessly exploited by militant recruiters promising financial incentives to jobless young men. For Pakistan, which has paid an enormous price in blood and treasure fighting terrorism over the past two decades, these international examples carry urgent lessons. The country’s youth bulge, with a median age below 23, is simultaneously its greatest asset and its greatest vulnerability. Regions historically affected by militancy, including parts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan, continue to suffer from inadequate educational infrastructure, high unemployment, and limited access to vocational training, conditions that extremist networks have historically exploited with alarming success. A national strategy that couples uncompromising military and intelligence operations against active terrorist networks with sustained, well-funded investment in youth education, sports programs, technical training, and civic engagement could fundamentally alter the recruitment landscape over a generation. Digital literacy must also become a central pillar of this strategy. Extremist recruitment has migrated substantially online, where algorithms on social media platforms can inadvertently funnel vulnerable young users toward increasingly radical content. Countries that have invested in digital counter-narrative campaigns, training young social media influencers and content creators to actively challenge extremist messaging with authentic, relatable content, have seen measurable success in disrupting online radicalization pipelines. Pakistan’s own vibrant youth culture, increasingly connected through smartphones even in remote areas, could be harnessed similarly if government and civil society organizations invest in training a new generation of digital counter-extremism voices. Ultimately, the fight against terrorism cannot be sustained through security operations alone, however necessary those remain against active threats. Zero tolerance for violence must be matched with zero tolerance for the conditions that breed it: poverty, ignorance, and hopelessness among the young. The examples of Indonesia, Denmark, the United Kingdom, and Nigeria demonstrate that no single formula guarantees success, but all share a common thread, treating youth not as suspects to be monitored but as partners to be invested in. For a nation like Pakistan standing at a demographic crossroads, the choice is stark and urgent: empower this generation of young people as guardians of peace, or risk watching extremist networks continue to recruit from among society’s most overlooked and underserved.