Democratic Technocracy and a New Administrative St…

By Tuba Khan  Cheating in the education sector is an issue of great concern. It is not merely an academic breakdown, but the foundation upon which corrupt values are built. Unfortunately, cheating culture has become a defining feature of Pakistan’s education system and is considered a normal practice instead of a moral failure. This dysfunctional culture has led to the production of highly qualified people with unproductive minds, weak analytical abilities and limited potential to play a transformative role in society. Academic cheating is a conscious effort to use unfair means during exams to gain educational credit. Common cheating practices include, paper leaks, copied material in exams, using AI chatbots and technological devices such as mobile phones, smartwatches and other digital gadgets, receiving help from others during examination and hiring another person to sit in exams on behalf of the original candidate. Shockingly, in some cases, invigilators themselves facilitate cheating in the exam hall. Pakistan clearly lags behind other countries worldwide in the research field because of its corrupt education system that discourages creativity and problem-solving skills and is based on rote learning. International reports highlight the declining quality of education in Pakistan. According to the World Top 20 (WT20) International Education Database 2026, Pakistan is ranked 136th out of 164 countries globally in terms of the quality of education. Culture of cheating reflects the education crisis in Pakistan. This menace is prevalent in all four provinces of Pakistan. Sindh and Balochistan have recorded the highest number of cheating cases. As per the reports released by the Board of Secondary Education Karachi in 2022, around 100 students were caught cheating during exams and 400 cell phones were confiscated in the course of just two days (May 21-22). Later it was discovered that 18 people had appeared in exams on behalf of original candidates. KPK and Punjab also depict a pathetic picture. Earlier this year, candidates at the Khurrianwala Government Girls High School were found cheating and copying from paper slips with the connivance of invigilation staff. Even the provincial capitals, Lahore and Peshawar, having well-known educational institutes have the same culture. Not only schools and colleges, but the universities are also prone to it. Many factors contribute to this toxic culture, including staff shortage, overcrowded examination centers, weak institutional policies, poor performance of teachers, habitual laziness among students and staff, low level of students’ interest in studies and a lack of awareness about moral values. Consequences of cheating are not limited to examination centers only, but extend to the whole society. Academic institutes are meant to produce ethical, responsible and intellectual citizens, but the cheating culture is eroding the very essence of education. In most of Pakistan’s educational institutes, students learn that success is determined not by merit, knowledge and hard work, but by shortcuts and dishonest practices. They learn how to undermine the rights of the honest ones for the sake of their personal interests. This mindset is leading towards the moral decay of society. Learners who develop the habit of achieving success through unfair means during academic years may apply the same tactics to gain influence when they come into power, fostering corruption in the country. Students don’t even realize the damage they are causing to themselves by cheating. For the short-term happiness of success, they often expose themselves to long-term consequences as cheating sabotages their self-confidence, ability to think critically and form independent opinions. Such students score high and even secure top positions in their educational institutes, but often fail to compete in the global job market, where analytical ability and practical skills are valued more than the high scores. When dishonesty is tolerated in classrooms, it puts the future of students at stake and the entire society suffers the consequences. Education sector needs comprehensive reforms. The Government of Pakistan should allocate enough financial resources to the educational institutions, recruit competent staff, strengthen surveillance in exam halls, introduce teacher training programmes, hold the students and staff accountable for their involvement in the debacle of cheating. Examination halls should be monitored and students should be thoroughly checked before entering examination centers so that they cannot carry any digital device or cheating material with them. Exams should be conceptual promoting effective learning and fair assessment. Schools, colleges and universities should educate their students about the importance of intellectual growth and honesty. Cheating must be met with strict actions. A nation cannot expect honest leaders unless the education system is fair. If Pakistan really needs a corruption-free system, the struggle must begin within the classrooms. In a nutshell, by eliminating the culture of cheating, Pakistan will be able to nurture a generation that values meritocracy, thus paving the way for a more just and progressive future.

Bio: Hamza Tareen is a student at LUMS, majoring in Political Science and with a keen interest in philosophy and theology.   Few individuals’ legacies are defined more by their peculiar life accounts than by their vast scholarly contributions. Majid Daryabadi is probably of that ilk. An exceptionally gifted child, raised in a deeply devout family, his life was in complete accord with the theological influences that enveloped him: from wearing the characteristic religious turban to being tutored in Quran and Arabic from the very early years. And, at the precocious age of thirteen, Daryabadi began penning polemical articles and essays aimed at defending Islamic doctrines—and refuting rival traditions. However, hardly anyone could have anticipated the drastic tempest that would soon ensue and shake Daryabadi to his core. Coming across the book titled The Elements of Social Science was the critical juncture in his life which struck at the very heart of his values. This work did not flagrantly castigate Islam or denounce any other religion; it assaulted something else: the underpinning social and moral frameworks which form the bedrock of society. Little wonder that Daryabadi, still a 16-year-old who had just finished his Matriculation, was disillusioned with the guiding theological foundations he had long cherished ‘when the claims and arguments of the book were in complete accord with libidinal urges’. This episode was the turning point in his life which estranged him from his beliefs and was the nascent emergence of a decade-long journey of doctrinaire atheism. Although his shift to skepticism was driven and cemented by encounters with the works of eminent atheists and philosophers, one thing particularly arrests attention and exposes the academic dishonesty present profusely in Western academia: the spurious claim that the citadel of their scholarship is erected upon objectivity and dispassionate ‘impartiality’. Daryabadi, in his autobiography, elaborates that ‘a poison ran through the lines’ of seemingly ‘objective’ and ‘scientific’ scholarship. In a remarkably furtive and implicit manner, the most profound religious convictions would be scoffed at and trampled underfoot. Two such illustrations are worth noting: a voluminous piece of psychology argued, targeting the blessed Prophet (PBUH), that it was possible for a man suffering from epilepsy to leave behind a great legacy. In another instance, the Prophet was depicted—reprehensibly and coarsely—in an artificially concocted image, which was merely the deplorable translation of West’s bias towards Islam. Daryabadi persisted in his skepticism of religion and would fiercely critique it through his various publications. But despite the outright repudiation, there was a concealed, but potent, bond with Islam, which did not wither away; when Samuel Zwemer, a Christian polemicist who had come to British India for a conference, began his critique of the religion, Daryabadi—by then an atheist—would offer his rejoinders in defense of the faith. The subtle and discreet traces of sacred convictions had survived the materialistic tumult. It was after a decade that Daryabadi would, slowly and gradually, experience a shift in trajectory. His voracious propensity to read, coupled with sheer curiosity, led him to scrutinize the works of semi-atheistic philosophers who had entertained spiritual dimensions and possibilities beyond the cold, materialistic realm. Subsequently, he delved into the study of Buddhism, Hinduism and theosophy. Something profound had changed. Seeds of belief had been sown—once again. Engaging with the spiritual aspects of the traditions led him to deliberate the possibility of the unseen. Taken aback by the profundity of insights and reflecting upon their perennial truths, Daryabadi was intrigued. His quest for the truth eventually led him to Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi’s Masnavi—the classic fountain of spirituality. The exemplar of Tasavvuf left a lasting imprint on Daryabadi’s rationalist outlook, unfolded before him a new horizon, and imbued him with an acute consciousness of the divine. Rumi’s Masnavi uplifted him from the recesses of oblivion to the light of the sacred. An epiphany reverberated through his austerely skeptical frameworks: the expanse of truth was too wide to be captured by the empiricist. And then came the final ‘nail in the coffin of atheism and apostasy’ when Daryabadi once again ventured to open the divine book, now bestowed with the ability to perceive the truths contained therein. That translation of the holy book was rendered by Muhammad Ali Lahori, a member of the Ahmadiyya movement, and Daryabadi’s enduring gratitude to him was a reminder to the puritanical Muslims who refuse to see the value in the works of those they deem astray. A poignant pilgrimage to the former self followed thereafter, and Daryabadi pledged allegiance to the renowned Sufi master Shaykh Ashraf Ali Thanavi—his father’s prayers had been finally answered. He went on to author a multitude of books, with his magnum opus being the multi-volume exegesis of the Holy Quran, Tafsir-i-Majidi, and was ultimately etched into history as a towering Muslim scholar who contributed immensely to Islamic scholarship.

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 United Nations was founded in 1945 after the League of Nations had failed to preserve peace. Its Security Council was designed for the world that emerged from the Second World War, with five permanent members holding the veto and a small number of elected seats. That basic architecture has scarcely changed since 1965, when the non-permanent membership rose from six to ten. The veto was meant to keep the great powers inside the system and to prevent open conflict among them. Eight decades later the organisation still carries the imprint of 1945 while the membership of the United Nations has grown to 193 states and the global population exceeds eight billion. The Council’s composition therefore no longer reflects the international community it is supposed to serve. In 2008 the General Assembly launched the Intergovernmental Negotiations to consider reform. The discussions have centred on five linked questions: categories of membership, the veto, regional representation, the size of the Council and its working methods. Africa still has no permanent seat. Latin America, South Asia and large parts of the Muslim world remain under-represented. The present arrangement is widely seen as a remnant of the colonial order that concentrates power among a few states. Many argue that emerging powers and significant regional actors—Pakistan, Brazil, Egypt, South Africa, Nigeria, Indonesia, Türkiye, Saudi Arabia, Mexico and India among them—ought to enjoy greater weight if the Council is to regain legitimacy and effectiveness. Yet the debate is locked. The Group of Four seeks permanent seats for itself and two for Africa. The African Group demands two permanent seats with full veto rights. France and Mexico urge the permanent members to refrain voluntarily from using the veto in cases of mass atrocity. The Uniting for Consensus group, led by Pakistan and supported by Italy, Mexico, Argentina, Canada and South Korea, rejects any enlargement of the permanent category. It proposes instead an expansion of elected seats that would be longer-term and renewable. The rival camps cancel one another’s majorities, leaving the process stalled. Enlarging permanent membership would not reform the Council so much as entrench new privileges. Additional veto-holders would multiply the occasions on which national interests can block action. The repeated American vetoes that have shielded Israel and allowed the destruction of Gaza to continue illustrate how a single permanent member can nullify the will of the rest. More permanent members would introduce further competing interests and raise the risk of paralysis. Once granted, permanent status is effectively irreversible; the new members would be free to obstruct any future attempt to revise the arrangement. India’s claim to a permanent seat invites particular scrutiny. Permanent membership requires sustained confidence in a state’s fidelity to the Charter. India’s refusal to implement successive Security Council resolutions on Jammu and Kashmir, its rejection of a United Nations-supervised plebiscite and its unilateral constitutional changes in the territory sit uneasily with that standard. Concerns about human-rights practices in the disputed region and elsewhere, the suspension of the Indus Waters Treaty, reports of transnational repression, the Citizenship Amendment Act, the treatment of Rohingya refugees and a foreign policy that has offered strategic comfort to Israel all raise legitimate questions. India’s status outside the Non-Proliferation Treaty and the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty adds a further layer of unease. Germany’s candidature faces different objections. Europe already holds two permanent seats. Adding a third would deepen regional imbalance. Recent German positions on Gaza have been criticised as inconsistent with the very humanitarian principles permanent members are expected to uphold. The country’s failure to secure even a non-permanent seat in a recent election suggests that its aspirations do not command the necessary breadth of support. The Uniting for Consensus proposal offers a more measured path. Expanding the elected membership from ten to twenty would open opportunities for Africa, Asia-Pacific, Latin America and the Caribbean without creating new permanent centres of power. Periodic elections would keep members accountable to the wider membership. Rotation would allow more states to contribute to the maintenance of peace and security. Broader participation could improve the quality of deliberation on intractable questions such as Palestine, Ukraine and other long-standing disputes, without multiplying vetoes that have so often produced deadlock. Reform should strengthen the Council’s legitimacy without sacrificing its capacity to act. Expanding permanent membership would create additional privileged seats, heighten the risk of institutional paralysis and make subsequent change more difficult still. Wider geographical representation is better achieved by enlarging the elected ranks. The Uniting for Consensus approach preserves the existing institutional framework, enhances inclusivity, promotes accountability through regular elections and reflects the interests of the membership as a whole. Sustainable reform therefore lies in widening participation and reinforcing regional balance rather than in extending permanent privilege and the veto.

The role of media should not be confined to disseminating news and information but must also highlight public awareness regarding climate change. The media, in its reporting, is required to use appropriate terminology and diction to raise awareness, highlight the causes, and provide a way forward. The media, in its reporting, is expected to project the environment not as a resource to be used by humans but as a living environmental and ecological process that must not be disturbed by humans. For example, while writing such reports, if the media says that natural resources are diminishing or facing extinction, it must similarly highlight that the environmental system is being affected or impacted negatively . Recent studies have also reinforced this perspective. Penz and Fill (2022) observe that ecolinguistics promotes and fosters environmental awareness while supporting and strengthening the connection between humans and nature for sustainable development. In this context, Alexander and Stibbe (2014) argue that ecolinguistics plays a key role in highlighting the relationship between humans and the environment, as well as its impact on addressing environmental challenges and shaping a sustainable future. It is pertinent to highlight that while reporting any incident about environmental degradation or natural disasters, the media, apart from reporting, is also expected to provide solutions and a way forward to help face such incidents in the future. In reports about floods, wildfires, and rising temperatures, the media is also required to provide guidance and suggestions on how to combat or lessen the impacts of such environmental changes. The reporting must not be based only on presenting news and subsequently creating fear or chaos but must also give a sense of hope among people that through various techniques and the use of technology, such natural disasters can be managed effectively. The media must not consider floods, droughts, fires, or other environmental disasters merely as natural disasters but should link such impacts with environmental changes, industrial pollution, deforestation, human intervention with nature, and so on. Fairclough (1995), in his study, states that media should cover and highlight the areas that , on the other hand, are ignored and not given consideration by the masses. Therefore, the media is expected to sensitize the masses regarding such disasters and create a way forward to combat or tackle such environmental change disasters and their impacts on people and society as a whole. On the other hand, equally important is environmental equity or justice in society. It has been widely observed and noted that in floods, droughts, disasters, and environmental changes, the major impacts are faced by the underprivileged in society. It is the role and responsibility of the media to highlight and become a voice for such voiceless people, representing them and creating a sense of ownership among the poor and marginalized sections of society. The media is also required to highlight and create awareness among people about science and technology related to the environment and provide them with knowledge that through the use of such technology, they can tackle the horrors of disasters. The study of ecolinguistics reminds the media that humans are, in no way, different from society and can never be detached from society and vice versa. Hence, media reports are also expected to discuss humans, rivers, oceans, flora, fauna, biodiversity, and the ecosystem as a whole to give them significance and bring them into the limelight of the coverage. Media reporting is also required to use environment related terminology and diction, such as environmental war, ecological emergency, and other relevant terms, in its reports to highlight environment related information. Recent studies highlight that similes and metaphors have a significant impact on human thinking. Hence, the media is encouraged to resort to this method to mould public opinion towards environmental conservation and protection. Moreover, media personnel are required to engage in investigative journalism and cover incidents and events from different angles , examining their pros and cons deeply. If there are frequent flash floods in any area, the media is expected to discuss the causes and the role of concerned authorities in handling the incidents . Media houses, along with environmental protection organizations and other stakeholders, are required to impart knowledge and training to journalists. There is also a significant role for environmental funding organizations in sensitizing media personnel. In training sessions, they are expected to invite environmental experts, scientists, and scholars who have made significant contributions in this area. Media reports and the diction used therein have great significance. They must highlight a green and stable future through sustainable development initiatives and become partners in facing the challenges and effects of environmental degradation. They must give hope to people that the media stands with them and will continue contributing its responsible and positive role. This is the major objective of ecolinguistics. Societies such as ours widely need the use of ecolinguistics in the media.

By Mudassar Javed Baryar Avni Doshi, the Booker Prize-shortlisted author of Burnt Sugar, returns with her second novel, The First House, a work that solidifies her reputation as one of the most compelling literary voices of her generation. Doshi, born in New Jersey in 1982, has established herself as a writer who fearlessly dissects the complexities of human relationships, particularly those between mothers and daughters, husbands and wives. Her debut was lauded for its unflinching honesty and lyrical prose, and The First House continues this tradition, offering readers a psychologically penetrating exploration of marriage, identity, and the slow, agonizing process of self-reclamation. The novel centres on an unnamed narrator whose thirteen-year marriage unexpectedly collapses, forcing her to confront not only the immediate devastation of her husband’s departure but also the deeper, more unsettling questions about her past, her family, and the very nature of love and sacrifice. It is a story that is as mythologically rich as it is emotionally devastating, weaving together ancient goddesses, astrological charts, and the relentless cycle of nature to create a profound meditation on what it means to lose everything and find oneself in the process. The First House is a domestic drama steeped in psychological intensity and mythological symbolism, unfolding through the intimate, raw perspective of its unnamed narrator. The story begins with a moment of shattering clarity: her husband enters their bedroom and calmly announces he no longer wishes to be married. From this single, devastating event, the narrative spirals outward, exploring the aftermath of abandonment and the slow, painful process of learning to exist without the structures that once defined her. The plot is not driven by a series of dramatic external events but rather by the protagonist’s internal journey as she grapples with her grief, anger, and profound disorientation. As the narrator struggles to maintain her composure for the sake of her two young daughters, she retreats into the world of astrology, studying birth charts in search of answers or perhaps just patterns that might explain the chaos of her life. She becomes fixated on the figure of Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, whose statue stands in her neighbour’s yard—a constant, silent observer of her unravelling. The statue, originally commissioned as a weathervane, becomes a powerful symbol of her own perceived powerlessness and the indignity of being turned by forces beyond one’s control. The novel also weaves in the emergence of periodical cicadas, whose seventeen-year life cycles of subterranean dormancy and explosive, noisy mating serve as a metaphor for hidden growth, suppressed desire, and the inevitable transformations that drive all living things. The setting, a seemingly placid suburban landscape, contrasts sharply with the internal turmoil of the protagonist. Her world shrinks to the confines of her home, her fraught relationships with her parents, and her complicated, long-estranged relationship with her sister, Didi. The central conflict is her struggle to maintain a sense of self—to keep her head, as it were, while her life is dismantled piece by piece. As she navigates financial instability, the practical challenges of single parenthood, and the humiliation of being left, she is forced to confront uncomfortable truths about her marriage and herself. The novel is ultimately a story about the stories we tell ourselves to survive, and what happens when those narratives collapse. Doshi uses the themes of loss, betrayal, and self-reclamation to explore how we construct our identities through relationships and what remains when those structures are removed. The true power of The First House lies in Doshi’s extraordinary prose and the depth of her protagonist’s consciousness. The author crafts a narrative that is brutally honest, often uncomfortable, and deeply insightful into the psychology of a woman in crisis. The writing itself is a masterclass in showing, not telling; the reader feels the protagonist’s disorientation, her rising panic, and her eventual, hard-won clarity through the rhythm of the language and the accumulation of powerful, visceral details. Doshi has a remarkable ability to render complex emotional states with precision and economy, making the reader feel as though they are living inside the narrator’s mind. The novel’s structure, which moves between present-day events and memories of the past, creates a rich, layered portrait of a life that feels both specific and universal. One of the most compelling characters is the narrator herself. Her voice is raw, intelligent, and often unflattering, yet it is this very honesty that makes her so resonant. She is not a passive victim; she is a woman capable of sharp observation and deep self-criticism, which makes her journey of self-discovery all the more moving. For instance, her admission that she sometimes resented the intrusion of her family on her writing time, or her complex feelings of love and resentment towards her children, are depicted with a startling authenticity that challenges romanticized notions of motherhood. A specific example of her compelling development is her relationship with the act of writing itself. Initially a source of guilt and a symbol of what she has lost, writing gradually becomes a tool for her reclamation, a way for her to”re-collect”herself and her story. Her growing awareness of her own complicity in the failure of her marriage, and her willingness to examine her own flaws, makes her a deeply sympathetic and profoundly human character. Another exceptionally compelling aspect of the novel is the storyline involving the Diana statue and the cicadas. Doshi masterfully uses these elements not as mere decorative motifs, but as integral parts of the narrative’s thematic architecture. The statue of Diana, a representation of a powerful, self-possessed female deity, becomes a haunting presence throughout the novel, a mirror for the narrator’s own lost power and a link to her past self. The story of Diana’s commissioning as a weathervane, a great goddess forced to turn at the whim of the wind, becomes a potent symbol for the diminishment the protagonist feels in her marriage and society at large. The revelation of the architect’s violent death at the foot of the statue adds