Ebola Outbreak-The deadly Epidemic

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

Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai was one of the most multifaceted poets of the subcontinent. The scope of his poetry covers various areas such as peace, humanity, humility, spirituality, patriotism, patience, struggle, and many other important aspects of human life. The light of his poetry reaches the minds and souls of people belonging to different walks of life. Latif was born in a period when Persian was the official language and was also the language of poetry and other means of expression. However, he broke the chains of tradition, put aside the fear of social conventions, and used Sindhi instead of Persian as the medium of his poetry. His narrative reinforces the idea that one should prefer native and indigenous languages to foreign ones, because one’s identity and cultural association are linked with indigenous languages. He does not mean to disrespect Persian; rather, he intends to reinforce the significance of native languages. Patriotism was one of the important themes of Latif’s poetry. Sur Marvi is a testament to his inner feelings about the homeland and the deep love attached to it. According to the story, when Marvi was allegedly kidnapped by Umar, the ruler of the time, and brought to his grand palace, she rejected the luxuries and comforts of the palace. Instead, she requested Umar to return her to Malir, her homeland. Marvi tells Umar that if she dies in imprisonment, her dead body should be sent back to her beloved parents, ancestors, and the land of Malir. Even after her demise, reaching her homeland would bring comfort and peace to her soul. She wishes to be buried among the fragrant herbs and plants of her beloved land. This symbolises love, simplicity, and attachment to the homeland and its people. It shows that despite achieving all worldly luxuries and privileges, a person with a true conscience desires to return to their native land. For Latif, love for the homeland is more than a feeling or a sense of belonging. It is an attachment to one’s identity, culture, and indigenous roots. Therefore, Marvi does not care about worldly luxuries but desires to return to Malir, which may be simple but possesses natural beauty, pure love, and the affection of relatives and fellow beings. For Marvi, her homeland Malir is superior and matchless. In Sur Sarang, Latif discusses rain and the prosperity that follows rainfall through agriculture, irrigation, and the grazing of domestic animals and livestock. Latif describes Thar as a thirsty land that has always longed for rain and showers because the sustainability of Thar depends upon rainfall. The dark clouds over Thar bring excitement and happiness, not only to the poor people but also to their livestock. For the rain-thirsty region of Thar, rain indicates the hope of prosperity. After rainfall, lands are cultivated, animals are kept in homes, and people experience prosperity. This reflects the deep association between humans and nature and shows how people keep high hopes from natural blessings such as rain. Latif’s poetry does not only confine itself to love, peace, and patriotism; patience, humanity, self-surrender, and contentment with minimum means are also significant themes of his poetry. He emphasises the purity and piousness of the inner soul and encourages people to sacrifice worldly desires to elevate their inner selves. During the British era, many British officers posted in Sindh recognised the greatness of Shah Abdul Latif’s poetry and paid tribute to him. Writers and scholars such as H.T. Sorley considered him one of the great poets of the world. Through their contributions, they tried to promote and spread Latif’s message of love, peace, humanity, brotherhood, and tolerance. They observed that although Latif’s poetry apparently covers regional issues and feelings, its thoughts and expressions are universal and comparable with the works of internationally recognised poets. While talking about the concept of the Lord, Latif explains that apparently there seems to be one palace having hundreds of thousands of doors and countless windows. Wherever one looks, one can see the presence of the Lord. This indicates that God is omnipresent and can be seen through different forms of His creation and symbols. One of the fundamental aspects of Latif’s poetry is real love and the approach towards the Creator. According to Latif, the initial step to achieve this elevated spiritual status is to become humble, submissive, caring, and kind towards people living on earth. He believes that in order to have access to God, one has to brush aside worldly desires and become humble and devoted. His poetry also contains messages of hope, patience, courage, and adventure. Latif says that those who have the courage and determination to cross rivers of difficulties and hardships will ultimately reach their destination. In his poetry, the river symbolises obstacles and difficult situations that a person faces while struggling to achieve success. Those who are brave enough to face the horrifying waves of difficulties can ultimately cross the river and achieve their goals. Latif also emphasises avoiding excessive desires of the material world. According to him, the way to spiritual elevation is to remain humble, kind, and caring towards the creatures of the Lord. His poetry teaches people that life is temporary and that one must play one’s role positively in this world to achieve success in the spiritual world. Sur Samundi is another important chapter of Latif’s poetry. In this Sur, Latif depicts the life of marine traders, their economic struggles, social issues, and the feelings of their loved ones when these sailors travel through deep seas and remain away from their homes for many months. In this chapter of his poetry, Latif observes that people of the olden days were involved in trade and commerce and lived prosperous lives. These mariners travelled to far off areas and traded various valuable items, including diamonds, pearls, and jewels. They left the comforts and luxuries of their homes because they preferred trade and adventure to a comfortable life. Latif not only highlights the success and struggles of these traders but also

When Henrik Ibsen wrote A Doll’s House in 1879, Europe was not prepared for Nora Helmer’s final act, where she left her husband. The sound of a woman shutting the door on her husband and children became one of the most controversial moments in literary history. To nineteenth-century society, the idea that a wife could leave an unhappy marriage was not merely immoral; it was considered an attack on the very foundation of civilization itself: the marriage. The reaction was so intense that German theatre managers forced Ibsen to change the ending. In the revised version, Nora looks at her sleeping children, collapses emotionally, and stays in the marriage. Society wanted the family preserved at all costs. Marriage was sacred. Separation was shameful. A woman’s identity was expected to remain tied to sacrifice, endurance, and silence. More than a century later, something similar is unfolding in Pakistan, particularly in Islamabad. According to recent reports, family courts in Islamabad are facing an unprecedented rise in khula and maintenance cases. More than 45,000 khula-related cases have reportedly already been filed this year, with over 300 new cases emerging daily. The number of family disputes continues to rise, reaching 100,000 cases in 2025. Alongside this trend, court marriages have also increased significantly, many ending in disputes soon after marriage. This phenomenon is often discussed only through statistics or social criticism. Yet beneath these numbers lies a deeper sociological transformation, one that history has witnessed before: a doll’s house. The most striking aspect is not the increase in divorce. It is the change in social attitudes toward marriage itself. Pakistan today appears to be experiencing debates that Europe confronted more than one hundred years ago. In traditional Pakistani society, much like Victorian Europe, marriage has long been treated as sacred, permanent, and socially untouchable. Previous generations often viewed separation as failure, dishonour, or rebellion against family values. Women were expected to tolerate emotional hardship, neglect, incompatibility, and sometimes even abuse for the sake of preserving the household structure. This is precisely the social environment that Nora challenged in A Doll’s House. At the time, audiences were horrified not because Nora committed a crime, but because she chose herself over an unhappy domestic life. Society could forgive a flawed husband more easily than it could accept a woman leaving the marriage altogether. Her departure symbolized individual dignity over social expectation. Today, in Islamabad’s family courts, one can observe echoes of the same historical transformation. Increasingly, people, particularly women, are refusing to remain in marriages they perceive as emotionally unbearable, unequal, or destructive. Whether one agrees with this shift or not, it represents a visible social reality. This does not necessarily mean that society has abandoned the institution of marriage. Rather, it may indicate that expectations from marriage are changing. Earlier generations often prioritized endurance and collective family reputation. Modern generations increasingly prioritize emotional compatibility, respect, mental peace, and personal autonomy. The pace of this transition, however, varies across societies. Europe underwent these debates gradually through industrialization, feminism, legal reform, and changing gender roles over decades. Pakistan, by contrast, is witnessing social change at a much faster pace due to urbanization, education, digital connectivity, economic pressures, and shifting cultural narratives. Ideas that once took generations to spread now travel instantly through social media, television, and global interaction. This is why the comparison with Ibsen’s drama becomes deeply relevant. History does not repeat itself in identical forms, but human societies often move through similar psychological and cultural stages. The same fears once expressed in nineteenth-century Europe, that family systems would collapse, morality would disappear, and social order would weaken, are now frequently heard in discussions within Pakistan. Yet it is important to approach this issue carefully and honestly. Recognizing this social transformation does not automatically mean celebrating divorce, nor does it mean condemning marriage. It simply means acknowledging that societies evolve, and that concepts once considered absolute eventually become contested. The sanctity of marriage remains deeply important for millions of families in Pakistan. At the same time, increasing numbers of individuals no longer believe that preserving a marriage at any cost is always the highest social virtue. Perhaps the real lesson from A Doll’s House is not about encouraging separation, but about understanding how societies react when individuals begin demanding dignity, identity and personal autonomy within family life. More than a century ago, Europe feared Nora’s door slam. Today, Pakistan is hearing similar sounds, not from theatre stages, but from courtrooms and homes. Whether this transformation strengthens or weakens society remains a question for future generations. But one thing is undeniable: social change, once it begins, rarely moves backward.

By Malik Khuda Bakhsh Awan, former Additional IG Punjab &  Engineer Arshad H. Abbasi In the early 1990s, operating a manual typewriter was not merely clerical work; it was a test of patience, precision, discipline and endurance. When our office typist disappeared without notice, the responsibility for preparing official reports fell upon us. There was no computer, no backspace and no “undo” button. Every word had to be typed carefully because a serious mistake could mean rewriting an entire page. We still remember spending almost eight hours preparing a single report, only to finish physically and mentally exhausted. Then, during a visit to Dubai on a different occasion, we witnessed Microsoft Office running on a modest personal computer, and it seemed almost magical. Microsoft Word could correct mistakes instantly, paragraphs could be moved without rewriting a page, and Excel could transform rows of figures into calculations, forecasts and financial analysis. We returned home convinced that technology would usher Pakistan into a new age of efficient governance, better engineering and more transparent economic management. In many ways, it did. Typewriters disappeared, computers transformed offices and the internet connected institutions. Yet another lesson gradually became clear: technology can change the tools without changing the people using them. Computers did not automatically eliminate corruption, inefficiency or institutional inertia. A powerful laptop in the hands of an uninterested official remained merely a powerful laptop. The same paradox emerged with PowerPoint. A tool designed to communicate information became, in some institutions, a substitute for serious analysis. Complex national problems were reduced to attractive slides, risks disappeared behind optimistic charts, and weak policies could be made to look impressive. “Death by PowerPoint” became more than a phrase; it became a warning about governance. We saw how major national decisions could be presented as technical successes while their long-term financial, economic and strategic consequences received insufficient scrutiny. The lesson is important because Pakistan is now entering another technological revolution, and this time the technology is far more powerful. Artificial intelligence is no longer limited to answering questions or completing simple prompts. The next generation is moving towards what we may describe as synthetic intelligence: increasingly autonomous systems that can receive an objective, break it into multiple tasks, use software tools, analyse information, check their own results, identify errors, revise their approach and continue working when a particular step fails. AI is also becoming multimodal, allowing systems to process text, images, sound, video, sensor information and structured data together. The next frontier is the integration of digital intelligence with the physical world through robotics, sensors, autonomous machines, industrial systems, medical technology, logistics and manufacturing. A system may eventually be able to observe a problem, formulate a plan, execute several steps, monitor the consequences and adapt its strategy without continuous human instruction. This is a profound transformation from statistical prediction towards increasingly structured problem-solving and autonomous action. Yet we must be careful about what this technological progress actually means. AI can calculate faster than humans, search more information than humans and identify patterns that humans may miss. It can optimise a supply chain, forecast electricity demand, analyse satellite imagery, detect anomalies in financial accounts and assist engineers in complex modelling. But none of this means that machines have acquired human wisdom. Intelligence and wisdom are not the same. A machine can calculate the most efficient way to distribute water, but it cannot independently determine what constitutes justice between competing communities. It can forecast a food shortage, but it cannot decide the moral priority between those who can pay and those who cannot. It can optimise an energy system, but it cannot decide whether a development project is worth the environmental and social cost. It can generate an economic model, but it cannot experience the hardship of a family facing inflation, unemployment or unaffordable electricity. The danger, therefore, is not simply that machines will become more intelligent. The greater danger is that human beings will begin surrendering judgement to machines. We must never confuse computational power with wisdom, information with understanding, or automation with responsibility. For Pakistan, this distinction is not an academic argument. It is a matter of national survival. Whatever happens to artificial intelligence during the next 100 years, human beings will still need food, water, energy, shelter and economic security. AI may transform the way these resources are managed, but it cannot abolish their physical foundations. An algorithm cannot manufacture a Himalayan glacier. A chatbot cannot create a river. A computer cannot grow wheat. A digital platform cannot replace a watershed. A robot cannot simply manufacture energy from nothing. AI can help us forecast rainfall, optimise irrigation, monitor groundwater, improve agricultural productivity, manage electricity demand, reduce transmission losses and identify climate risks. It can help us make better decisions, but it cannot remove our dependence on nature. This is particularly important for Pakistan because our national future is inseparable from the Indus Basin. Agriculture depends on water. Cities depend on reliable water supplies. Industry depends on energy. Food security depends on agriculture. Economic stability depends on affordable energy, productive agriculture, exports and functioning infrastructure. These systems are interconnected. Water affects food. Energy affects water. Food affects inflation. Energy affects industry. Climate change affects all of them. If water security deteriorates, agriculture suffers. If agriculture suffers, food prices rise. If energy becomes unaffordable, industry becomes uncompetitive. If industry weakens, employment and exports decline. If these pressures occur simultaneously, no AI system will magically rescue the country. This is why the belief that technology alone can solve Pakistan’s fundamental problems is dangerous. We have already made this mistake with computers and digitalisation. We must not repeat it with AI. Technology can amplify competence, but it can also amplify incompetence. If dishonest data enters an AI system, the machine may produce sophisticated dishonesty. If flawed assumptions enter the model, AI may produce a highly polished version of a flawed conclusion. If the objective is politically manipulated, the most advanced algorithm cannot convert a bad objective into good governance. The

For more than a decade, the global debate over critical minerals has focused almost entirely on mining and extraction. Western policymakers, multinational mining companies and international financial institutions have invested billions of dollars in securing mineral reserves across Africa and Latin America. From cobalt mines in the Democratic Republic of Congo to the Lithium Triangle of South America, the prevailing belief has been simple: control the mines and secure the future of the green energy transition. However, this overwhelming focus on extraction overlooks a fundamental reality of modern industrial power. In today’s world, strategic independence is not achieved simply by digging raw minerals out of the ground. True industrial strength lies in refining those raw materials into high-purity, battery-grade and industrial-grade minerals through advanced chemical processing. It is at this critical processing stage, often referred to as the “processing bottleneck,” that China has established an extraordinary and nearly unmatched global dominance. The Mining Illusion and China’s Refining Monopoly Understanding why Western efforts to reduce dependence on China continue to struggle requires recognising the crucial difference between mining and refining. Raw lithium extracted from Australian hard-rock mines or South American brine deposits cannot be used directly in electric vehicle batteries. It must first undergo complex chemical processing to produce lithium hydroxide or lithium carbonate with a purity of 99.9 percent. The same applies to rare earth elements, cobalt, nickel and graphite. Without refining, raw minerals have little value for advanced technology or defence industries. This is where China’s true strength becomes evident. While the country’s share of global mining production is relatively limited, it dominates global refining capacity. China currently refines about 35 percent of the world’s nickel, between 50 and 70 percent of global lithium and cobalt, and nearly 90 percent of all rare earth elements. It also controls virtually 100 percent of the global market for spherical graphite, a key material used in battery anodes. This creates a major strategic challenge for Western economies. Even if companies in the United States, Europe or Australia develop new mines, much of the extracted material still has to be shipped to China for chemical processing. As a result, many attempts to bypass China ultimately continue to strengthen its refining ecosystem. The Structural Foundation of China’s Success China’s refining dominance is neither accidental nor simply the result of low labour costs. It reflects more than three decades of consistent industrial planning and state-backed investment. During the 1990s and early 2000s, many Western economies shifted heavy industries overseas to reduce costs and meet stricter environmental regulations. At the same time, China recognised that chemical refining would become the foundation of future technological leadership. Through successive five-year development plans, Beijing invested heavily in large-scale refining facilities, specialised metallurgical universities and low-cost energy infrastructure. Decades of research enabled Chinese engineers to master technologies capable of refining even low-grade ores efficiently and at relatively low cost. China also accepted the significant environmental costs associated with refining. Processing rare earth minerals produces toxic waste, radioactive by-products and hazardous chemicals. While strict environmental regulations and public opposition have made large-scale refining projects difficult in North America and Europe, China accepted these environmental challenges as part of its long-term national strategy. Why the West Cannot Easily Replicate China’s Model Concern over potential Chinese export restrictions has encouraged the United States and its allies to invest in domestic refining infrastructure. However, matching China’s industrial ecosystem remains an enormous challenge. Several major obstacles stand in the way First, time. Building a modern refining facility in Europe or North America typically takes seven to twelve years because of environmental approvals and legal procedures. In China, similar projects can often be completed in less than two years. Second, cost. Chinese refineries benefit from economies of scale, low electricity prices and extensive government support. Western facilities face much higher labour, environmental and operational expenses. Without strong financial guarantees, private investors remain reluctant to finance projects that could later become uncompetitive if China lowers prices. Third, skilled manpower. Decades of industrial outsourcing have reduced the number of mining metallurgists and chemical engineers in many Western countries. Meanwhile, China continues to produce thousands of specialised engineers every year, maintaining a steady pipeline of technical expertise. Strategic and Geopolitical Consequences China’s refining advantage extends far beyond electric vehicles and consumer electronics. It has become a critical factor in global defence and national security. Modern military equipment—including guided missiles, radar systems, nuclear submarines and fifth-generation fighter aircraft such as the F-35—depends heavily on refined rare earth magnets and processed critical metals. In the event of a military crisis involving Taiwan or the South China Sea, China would not necessarily need to block access to global mines. Instead, it could simply restrict exports of refined minerals. Such a move could disrupt Western defence manufacturing within months, even if friendly nations continued producing raw mineral resources. The global competition over critical minerals, therefore, is no longer centred solely on who owns the mines. It increasingly depends on who controls the refining process—the stage where China has built its strongest and most strategically important advantage.

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