federation fragmentation

Federation or Fragmentation?

“Federalism is self-rule plus shared rule”—Daniel J. Elazar

The recurring demand for creating new provinces in Pakistan resurfaces with remarkable regularity. Whenever governance falters, regional disparities widen or perceptions of neglect become politically expedient, voices emerge advocating the redrawing of provincial boundaries. Southern Punjab, Hazara, Bahawalpur and other regions are periodically cited as compelling examples of territories whose aspirations can supposedly be fulfilled only through separate provincial status. 

The proposition appears deceptively simple: smaller provinces would bring government closer to the people and consequently ensure better governance. Yet constitutional questions are seldom answered by geographical arithmetic. Before redrawing Pakistan’s political map, we must first answer a more fundamental question: what is the constitutional purpose of a province within a federation?

The quote by Daniel J. Elazar, one of the foremost scholars of federalism is a simple expression that encapsulates the philosophy underlying every successful federation. A federation is neither a unitary state nor a loose confederation of independent entities. It is a constitutional partnership in which constituent units voluntarily participate in the exercise of shared sovereignty while retaining their distinct political identities. The essence of federalism, therefore, lies not in the number of constituent units but in the constitutional balance between unity and diversity.

Pakistan’s provinces were never intended to function merely as administrative divisions. Punjab, Sindh, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan represent historical regions possessing distinct linguistic, cultural and political identities. Their constitutional status cannot be viewed solely through the lens of administrative convenience. They constitute a federal compact upon which Pakistan’s constitutional structure rests. Altering provincial boundaries is therefore not merely a question of improving governance; it involves reconsidering the architecture of the federation itself.

None of this implies that demands for new provinces are devoid of merit. Those advocating separate provincial status often point towards genuine grievances. Regions distant from provincial capitals frequently complain of inadequate public investment, poor infrastructure, unequal employment opportunities, weak political representation and an enduring sense of neglect. Such concerns deserve neither dismissal nor ridicule. Every federation must continuously reassess whether its institutions are responding equitably to the aspirations of all its citizens.

There are, undoubtedly, persuasive arguments in favour of creating additional provinces. Smaller administrative units may improve governmental accessibility, reduce bureaucratic distance, strengthen regional representation and permit more focused development planning. 

India’s creation of states such as Chhattisgarh, Uttarakhand and Telangana was largely justified on similar considerations. In certain instances, administrative decentralisation has indeed facilitated more responsive governance. It would therefore be intellectually dishonest to dismiss the proposal merely because it challenges existing boundaries.

Yet comparative constitutional experience also counsels caution. Nigeria expanded from three regions to thirty-six states without eliminating corruption, insecurity or administrative inefficiency. India itself continues to witness demands for further statehood despite repeated territorial reorganisation. The number of constituent units has never, by itself, guaranteed good governance. Effective administration ultimately depends upon the quality of institutions rather than the quantity of provinces.

This distinction is often overlooked in Pakistan’s public discourse. Governance failures are frequently attributed to geography when they are, in reality, institutional. Weak local governments, politicised bureaucracies, uneven fiscal distribution, inadequate accountability and inconsistent policy implementation cannot be remedied simply by drawing new boundaries upon a map. Multiplying provinces without simultaneously strengthening constitutional institutions merely reproduces existing weaknesses on a smaller scale.

Perhaps the most neglected dimension of this debate is local government. Modern constitutional democracies recognise that genuine democracy begins not in distant capitals but within local communities. The closer government remains to the citizen, the greater its responsiveness and accountability. 

Unfortunately, Pakistan has historically oscillated between centralisation and reluctant decentralisation, often treating elected local governments as temporary administrative experiments rather than permanent constitutional institutions. Before concluding that additional provinces constitute the solution, we ought first to ask whether meaningful local self-government has ever been sincerely allowed to flourish.

Equally important is the constitutional process itself. The creation of new provinces cannot become an instrument of transient political expediency or electoral bargaining. It must emerge from broad constitutional consensus, careful economic evaluation, administrative necessity and, above all, the informed consent of those directly affected. Constitutional engineering undertaken without social consensus has rarely strengthened federations; more often, it has deepened existing divisions.

The debate, therefore, should not be framed as one between those who favour additional provinces and those who oppose them. The real issue is whether territorial reorganisation genuinely addresses the underlying causes of poor governance or merely offers an attractive political slogan. A federation derives its strength not from the number of provinces appearing on its map but from the confidence its citizens repose in the fairness of its institutions. Where constitutional principles are respected, resources distributed equitably and local governments empowered, both large and small provinces can flourish. Where these foundations are absent, no amount of territorial rearrangement can compensate for institutional decay.

Pakistan’s future will ultimately be determined less by the cartography of its provinces than by the constitutional maturity of its federation. If new provinces emerge through genuine constitutional consensus and demonstrable administrative necessity, they may well strengthen the federal structure. If, however, they arise merely as instruments of political convenience or regional rivalry, they risk replacing the promise of federalism with the peril of fragmentation. 

The challenge before Pakistan, therefore, is not simply to decide how many provinces it should have. It is to determine whether the federation can faithfully uphold the constitutional promise of self-rule and shared rule upon which every enduring federal democracy ultimately depends.

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The writer, lawyer and author, is former Adjunct Faculty at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), a member Advisory Board and Senior Visiting Fellow of Pakistan Institute of Development Economics (PIDE) 

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    The Education Dilemma

    By Tuba Khan Literacy is the key to a successful political, economic and social structure of a country. Nations that prioritize education give birth to a strong, responsible and intellectual generation that could foster civic culture in the country. A well-educated and politically aware youth is the backbone of a country’s development. Society can only progress if it invests in its youth, allocating resources and opportunities to young people. Pakistan ranks fifth among the countries having the largest young population in the world. This youth bulge could become a driver of economic prosperity and social progress if quality education and skills development are provided to the youth. Unfortunately, Pakistan lacks an education system that can produce civic-minded, skilled and informed people. The education sector has remained stagnant for several decades and the quality of education is declining day by day, producing an intellectually enslaved generation. Pakistan ranked 164th out of a total of 194 countries globally in education quality, lagging far behind from the other countries in the region. Education in Pakistan is treated as a business for generating revenue and in return creating inequality across all levels of education.   In Pakistan, around 54% of students are enrolled in public sector institutions, where the quality of education and the infrastructure are in a state of severe deterioration. The country’s education standard is so poor that no Pakistani university ranks among the world’s top 350 reputable universities as per QS World University Rankings 2026. Moreover, approximately 26 million children are out of school and those who are enrolled in schools are often products of the rote learning system, unable to think critically and lack the ability to build independent opinions. They are deprived of basic facilities, such as safe and secure buildings, furniture, laboratories, libraries, electricity, clean drinking water, proper sanitation facilities and other basic amenities at the public educational institutions. The outdated syllabus and unprofessional staff at public educational institutions add fuel to the fire, aggravating the education crisis in Pakistan. According to the data provided by UNESCO in 2024, there were 25.38 million students in total for all public and private elementary schools in the country, while only 445,877 teachers were available to facilitate the students. This highlights that there are around 57 children for each teacher. This highlights the ailing condition of the education system of Pakistan.   Despite the educational challenges and poor education system, government spending on the education sector has declined significantly. From 0.8% of GDP allocated to the education sector in 2024, the education spending has dropped to only 0.2% of the federal budget in 2026. Additionally, the privatization of public schools in Punjab is also the biggest failure of the government as it raised the costs and fees, putting a financial burden on low-income families and provoking more elimination of students from the schools. The privatization policy is contrary to the constitutional promise, introduced under the 18th amendment in 2010 of providing free and compulsory education up to Matriculation, exacerbating the education breakdown. This underscores the incompetence of the government in addressing the paramount issue, the root cause of several multidimensional problems of Pakistan.   Education is a fundamental right of every human being and it must be delivered to its citizens by the state. The government of Pakistan must realize that without an educated nation, the country could never be placed on the path of progress. The government should focus on eliminating gender inequality in the education sector while raising awareness in rural areas, making the educational institutions safe for women and holding the institutions accountable. It should encourage digital and vocational training programs, research, practical learning, skills development and the ability of youth to think critically and form independent opinions about the important issues. It is the duty of the government to provide quality education, maintain educational institutions, strengthen checks and balances within the education system, fulfil the constitutional promise of providing free education to children between the ages of 5 and 16 and strengthen the economy so that the middle and lower-middle class can easily afford education. Investing in education is not merely the responsibility of the government, but a national necessity. However, education alone is not enough unless it is coupled with employment opportunities. Otherwise, the youth bulge would become a demographic burden, marked by unemployment, poverty and instability. Pakistan urgently needs reforms in the education sector and strategies to transform the young population from a demographic challenge into a valuable demographic dividend for sustainable growth. The government must treat the education crisis as a priority issue to ensure a prosperous future.

  • Navigating the Global Consequences of US-China Tec…

    For three decades, the prevailing narrative of the global economy was one of seamless integration. From the design studios of California to the high-tech assembly lines of Shenzhen, the world operated on the assumption that technology was a bridge, not a barrier. However, that era of “borderless innovation” is rapidly giving way to a more fragmented reality. As the United States and China engage in an intensifying rivalry over the foundational technologies of the 21st century artificial intelligence (AI), semiconductors, and 5G a “Silicon Curtain” is descending, reshaping global supply chains and forcing a difficult reckoning for developing nations. The shift marks a transition from a world defined by economic efficiency to one governed by national security. In Washington, the consensus has hardened around the idea that “de-risking” from China is essential to protect intellectual property and maintain a military edge. In Beijing, the drive for “technological self-reliance” has become a central pillar of national survival. What began as a series of trade disputes in 2018 has evolved into a comprehensive decoupling that threatens to bifurcate the global digital ecosystem. The Semiconductor Siege and the AI Arms Race At the heart of this decoupling is the semiconductor the “oil” of the digital age. Advanced microchips are the brains behind everything from smartphones to hypersonic missiles. In 2022, the U.S. Department of Commerce introduced sweeping export controls designed to prevent China from acquiring the high end chips necessary for training generative AI models. The “CHIPS and Science Act” further signaled Washington’s intent to reshore manufacturing, offering billions in subsidies to bring fabrication back to American soil. China has responded with its own set of defensive and offensive measures. Beijing has invested hundreds of billions of dollars into its domestic chip industry via the “Big Fund” and has imposed export restrictions on critical minerals like gallium and germanium materials essential for high-tech manufacturing. This tit-for-tat dynamic has profound implications for AI development. While the U.S. currently leads in algorithmic innovation and hardware design, China possesses a vast reservoir of data and a highly integrated industrial base. As the two powers diverge, the world faces the prospect of two distinct AI “stacks” each with its own standards, ethical frameworks, and hardware requirements. For global corporations, the cost of maintaining two separate supply chains is staggering, with some estimates suggesting a permanent 1 to 5 percent drag on global GDP. The 5G Dilemma: Infrastructure as an Ideology The rivalry is equally visible in the rollout of 5G telecommunications. As the backbone of the “Internet of Things,” 5G infrastructure is more than just a faster cellular network; it is the nervous system of modern cities. The U.S. campaign to exclude Chinese providers like Huawei and ZTE from Western networks, citing security vulnerabilities, has effectively split the world into two camps. Many European and “Five Eyes” nations have aligned with Washington, citing the risks of state-sponsored espionage. Conversely, many nations across Southeast Asia, Africa, and the Middle East have continued to embrace Chinese infrastructure, which is often more affordable and comes with flexible financing. This infrastructure divide creates a “path dependency”: once a country adopts a specific 5G standard, the subsequent software, security protocols, and hardware upgrades are likely to follow the same technical lineage. The “Digital Non-Aligned Movement” Perhaps the most complex fallout of this decoupling is felt in the Global South. Developing nations, many of which are in the midst of their own digital transformations, now find themselves in an uncomfortable position. They are being pressured to choose between the two technological poles, a choice that carries significant economic and diplomatic risks. For a developing economy in Africa or Latin America, U.S. technology offers high security and integration with Western financial markets. However, Chinese technology often provides a lower barrier to entry and a focus on state-led development goals. The danger, according to many economists, is that this “tech-polarization” will lead to a lack of interoperability. If a startup in Nairobi develops an app on a Chinese cloud platform, will it function seamlessly for a user in a market dominated by American standards? Furthermore, the “friend-shoring” of supply chains where production is moved to politically allied nations is creating new winners and losers. Countries like Vietnam, India, and Mexico have seen an influx of investment as manufacturers seek to diversify away from China. However, other developing nations that lack the infrastructure or political alignment to join these new “trusted” supply chains risk being further marginalized. A World of Redundancy and Risk Critics of decoupling argue that the process is not only expensive but potentially futile. The global tech industry is so deeply intertwined that total separation may be impossible without catastrophic economic damage. Apple, for instance, still relies heavily on Chinese assembly, while Chinese tech firms still utilize American software architectures. Moreover, the environmental cost of decoupling is often overlooked. As both superpowers race to build redundant factories and secure mineral supplies, the efficiency gains of globalized production are lost, leading to increased carbon footprints and resource competition. The “Green Transition” itself is at risk, as solar panels and electric vehicle batteries are caught in the crosshairs of trade restrictions. The US-China tech rivalry is no longer a peripheral trade dispute; it is the defining feature of modern geopolitics. The shift from a globalized market to a fractured one represents a fundamental change in how the world innovates and communicates. While “strategic autonomy” may offer a sense of security for the superpowers, it introduces a new layer of volatility for the rest of the world. As we move forward, the challenge for the international community will be to establish a “digital floor” a set of minimum standards and protocols that allow the world to remain connected even as political systems diverge. Without such a framework, the “Fractured Circuit” may not only slow the pace of global innovation but also deepen the divide between the connected and the disconnected, leaving the most vulnerable nations to navigate a world of incompatible systems and dwindling choices.

  • Change we must

    In a world driven by technology, only change is permanent. Change we must, but how? Transition from one system to another is perhaps the biggest challenge that we have not been able to cope with. Half-baked solutions with underage players cannot deliver. Reminds me of Einstein’s famous quote: “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” Steve Jobs, one of the greatest technologists of the 21st century, went even further by saying: “Either lead or get out of the way.” A few years back I was doing some research on universities and their impact on setting the course of nations. Syed Ahmed Khan’s Aligarh Muslim University stood out. It produced the Change Managers who not only led the freedom movement but also had the capacity to sustain it. The Islamic Republic of Pakistan (IRP) desperately needs such individuals who can understand and then manage the needful. In the year 1875 he founded the MAO College (Mohammadian Anglo Oriental College) which later grew into a university in the year 1920. He passed away in 1898 but the institution grew. Later on, Allama Iqbal led the movement, and finally it was Muhammad Ali Jinnah who succeeded in carving a new homeland in August 1947 for the Muslims of the Indian Subcontinent. Unfortunately, he did not live long enough to lay the foundations of the new state, but he did leave clear guidelines for the inherited establishment to follow (Armed Forces, Bureaucracy). After taking over in October 1999, Pervez Musharraf created a think tank called the National Reconstruction Bureau (NRB). Headed by Lt. Gen. Tanvir Naqvi, it was located in the Chief Executive (CE) secretariat. The task was to design and execute political and administrative reforms in the country. I was invited to give my input. Naqvi Sb was very confident about delivering meaningful change. His main focus was on devolution of power. As a student of management, I asked him a simple question: “Who will implement his plan?” Bureaucracy, of course, was his quick reply. He did not have an answer to my second concern: “Why will they implement a plan which reduces their power?” He then decided to get rid of me by saying if I wanted to discuss implementation details, I should go to the third floor to the CE’s office. Finally, he stepped down and was replaced by a young novice who lacked the experience and clout to deliver meaningful change. Then there was another initiative called the National Commission for Human Development (NCHD), led by a pediatrician from a small town in Oregon. The worthy Dr assured the CE that he would manage funds from abroad while the local expenses were to be provided by the Government of Pakistan (GOP). Various centers were established across the country and staff recruited. While GOP provided the internal resources, the external help never came despite fundraising efforts abroad. The CE was convinced that the two sectors were well covered, but they were not. Finally, NCHD became a liability and was shut down and the staff laid off. During my term as Chairman, Pakistan Science Foundation (PSF), I lobbied for technocrats to head technical ministries, which was not well received by the powers that be. Commercialization and application of research is the biggest challenge faced by the R&D sector of the country. When I was denied an extension after the completion of my term, I paid a farewell visit to the Secretary MOST (Ministry of Science and Technology). It was a friendly meeting; the Secretary appreciated my work but complained that I did not follow his guidelines. While leaving, he pointed at the board where the names of his predecessors were written. I still remember his words: “Only our names make it here.” He did not like my spontaneous response: “Time will tell,” and it did. My lobbying prevailed; a retired Chairman of PAEC (Pakistan Atomic Energy Commission) replaced him. Though he had no commercial background, I decided to guide and support him. He recommended major investments in creating public sector entities like HMC III, run by PAEC, for meeting their equipment needs. At best, only pilot plants were viable for transfer of technology from laboratory to industry. He was unable to get the funds. As such, his term ended with no major breakthrough, and business as usual continued. Pakistan has a federal structure of governance. Federating units are diverse with differing needs. I am in favor of devolution, but the task on hand is not simple. The forces of status quo are too entrenched. Change Managers are needed at all levels. Complexities have to be understood and managed. There has to be consensus on the road map. Islamabad has an archive of failed plans. The same mistakes should not be repeated again. The first challenge is to find qualified individuals with solid re-engineering experience to lead the crusade. Einstein and Jobs were two brilliant brains of their times; we must value their outlook to move forward and avoid chaos and confusion. Oversimplification of the task at hand must be avoided.

  • Who Is Responsible for the Truth?

    One question stayed with me long after I attended a workshop under the project titled ‘Digital Trust and Free Expression in the Era of AI’, organized by the Department of Media and Development Communication, University of the Punjab with the support of the U.S. Mission to Pakistan in partnership with the Pakistan-U.S. Alumni Network, was, ‘How will we preserve digital trust and free expression in the age of AI’? As AI becomes an integral part of digital journalism, the question is no longer whether it should be used, and more importantly who should be held responsible when things go wrong. Artificial Intelligence has definitely proven to be a powerful tool for journalists. It can summarize long reports, translate content into multiple languages, follow breaking news, analyze vast quantities of data and even write complete news reports in seconds. All of these capabilities have revolutionized newsroom processes and enabled journalists to process information more efficiently than ever before. But efficiency is not the only measure of ethical journalism. Journalism isn’t about being fast, it’s about informing the public accurately, fairly and responsibly. One of the most valuable lessons I learned from the workshop was that AI does not understand information; it predicts the most likely response based on patterns in the data it has learned from. This distinction is important because when reliable information is unavailable at the time, AI generates responses that seem convincing but inaccurate, but are wrong, which is often referred to as AI hallucination. What’s most concerning is that the AI generated mistakes can appear convincing enough for people to accept them as true. This poses an ethical question: Who should be held responsible if AI-generated news contains misleading information? The burden can’t be placed entirely on the algorithm. AI has no moral judgement or legal accountability. It cannot distinguish between public interest and public harm and is not aware of the social consequences of publishing inaccurate information. This means that the responsibility rests with those who decide to employ these technologies: journalists, editors, newsroom leaders, and media organizations. While AI can help create content, it cannot replace responsibility. This is where ethics become more important than technological advancements. Checking information should not take a back seat to the ‘Publish first’ mentality. With all of the digital platforms that exist today, misinformation can spread from continent to continent within minutes and corrections often fail to reach the same audience. Each unverified headline altered photo or AI-generated mistake can damage the public’s trust, both in a specific news organization and in journalism.   The discussions also reinforced the importance of Media and Information Literacy (MIL). Verification is not only the responsibility of journalists, but also something that is necessary for every digital citizen. Learning how to use reverse image search, source verification techniques, and critical evaluation of online information is no longer an option, it’s essential for protecting ourselves from deception. As AI-generated content becomes increasingly sophisticated, it is essential to verify information before accepting it as true. AI will continue to evolve and so will digital journalism. The challenge is not innovation itself but using it responsibly. Trust is not something algorithms can build, it is something that can be gained only through transparency, accountability and a steadfast dedication to truth. While adopting new technologies to do journalism, let’s not forget that the tools should enhance journalism’s values, not shape journalism. AI may help write the news, but only humans can uphold the ethics behind it. The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the U.S. Mission to Pakistan or USEFP.

  • Trump reopens the Saudi nuclear deal

    For a few hours this week, it looked like Washington and Riyadh had quietly closed one of the more consequential files of Donald Trump’s second term. On Wednesday, US Energy Secretary Chris Wright and his Saudi counterpart signed a civil nuclear cooperation agreement, a deal years in the making, offering American firms a foothold in a market Riyadh has long promised and long withheld. Then, a day later, the president reopened it himself. In a Truth Social post on Thursday, Trump declared the agreement “will be approved,” but added that it was “totally subject to Saudi Arabia joining the very respected and successful Abraham Accords.” He also inserted a second condition that had not been part of the signed text: no enrichment of nuclear material on Saudi soil. Within hours, press secretary Karoline Leavitt was telling reporters the deal was simply “off” unless the kingdom normalised relations with Israel, even though, by her own account, the president had not actually spoken to Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman since posting the ultimatum. It is worth sitting with how unusual this is. A nuclear cooperation agreement, negotiated over years and signed by cabinet level officials on both sides, was retroactively rewritten by a presidential social media post, with the Saudi government left to respond through silence, and American wire services unable to get so much as a background comment out of Riyadh. Steven Cook, a Middle East scholar quoted by NPR, put the underlying question bluntly: whether “a social post supersede a signed diplomatic agreement.” That a serious foreign policy analyst even has to ask the question tells its own story about how this White House does business. The Saudi position, however, is not new, and it is not merely stubbornness. The kingdom has said for years, through King Salman and now through the Crown Prince, that normalisation with Israel requires a credible pathway to Palestinian statehood. That position survived the first Trump term’s Abraham Accords push, the Biden administration’s own normalisation efforts, and it hardened further after the October 2023 Hamas attack on Israel and the war in Gaza that followed. Riyadh’s calculus is also generational: across the Arab and Muslim world, sympathy for the Palestinian cause remains a live political fact that no government, however close to Washington, can casually override. There is also an Israeli dimension worth naming honestly. Israel’s own unease was never really about Saudi Arabia’s civilian nuclear ambitions; officials have signalled for months that they had made peace with the idea, provided it came bundled with normalisation. What Israeli commentators and officials appear to actually fear is a Saudi Arabia empowered, prestige laden, and unbound to the Accords: a regional heavyweight whose recognition Israel still needs, and has not been granted, absent a resolution nobody has yet found for the Palestinians. That is the crux the deal has now run into, and it is not a problem Trump’s Truth Social account can post its way out of. None of this means the deal is necessarily dead. Trump has a long history of issuing maximalist conditions in public while negotiating something narrower in private, and Saudi Arabia has strong economic and strategic incentives of its own to keep the nuclear track alive. But the manner in which this condition was added, abruptly, publicly, and without prior coordination with Riyadh, is itself a signal worth reading. It suggests an American approach to the region that still assumes the old leverage of the first Abraham Accords era holds unchanged, even as the ground beneath it, in Gaza’s aftermath and in Saudi public opinion, has shifted considerably. Whether Washington adjusts to that reality, or simply keeps repeating the demand more loudly, will say a great deal about how the rest of this file plays out.

  • A Nation in Focus: The Social Contract and the Mak…

    (When the water rises, who shows up and who is left waiting?) ‎I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. When the water rises in Muskingum County or the Punjab plains, who shows up, and who is left waiting? I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. ‎ ‎My mother and brother still live right near South Zanesville, just a stone’s throw from Crooksville. When heavy rains hit Perry and Muskingum counties, I don’t need to be there to know what it looks like. I can picture the heavy, chocolate-brown water backing up into the low spots, the damp chill that settles into a basement, the fears of what if the waters reach a house trailer, and that specific, exhausting smell of river mud that takes weeks to scrub out of porch boards and carpet. The worries of if the home has structural damage.. Halfway across the world in Pakistan, the landscape couldn’t look more different. But when monsoon season swells the rivers across the Punjab, the view from the ground is hauntingly identical. ‎ ‎Standing in a flooded doorway feels the same whether you are in Ohio or Lahore. The quiet shock is the same. The ruin of things you worked years to buy is the same. And the very first instinct is to grab your coat, shovel, a chainsaw and a pair of boots and go check on the elderly woman next door.. Start hauling wet furniture, debris to the curb and giving comfort, food and basics to those in need is entirely universal. Watching both worlds at once makes you look at governance differently. It strips away abstract political jargon and leaves you asking one fundamental question: When a community is hit with a crisis, does its system build capable people who can act, or does it leave them sitting on their hands, waiting for permission to survive? ‎ ‎What a Small Ohio Village Taught Me About Governance ‎ ‎Growing up around South Zanesville and Crooksville, you learn pretty early that small-town life relies on a very specific kind of quiet, distributed agency. ‎Crooksville isn’t a rich town. It’s a hard-working Appalachian village of under 1,500 people. But when the creek overflows, nobody sits around waiting for a press conference out of Washington, D.C., or a mandate from the state capital in Columbus. ‎ ‎The response moves in waves because the connections are already wired: ‎On the local levels we see neighbor checks on neighbor. The volunteer fire department turns on the sirens, pulls out the high-water gear, and starts the door to door knocks. At the County level we have the Perry County 911 dispatch and Emergency Management Agency (EMA) start tracking water levels and routing equipment where it’s needed most. At the State level, If the county gets overwhelmed, pre set legal triggers immediately call in the Ohio EMA or the National Guard. ‎ ‎Government here doesn’t replace the community’s instinct to help itself; it validates it, organizes it, and backs it up with real resources. The system trusts the people on the ground to know their own roads. Here in Pakistan, the human spirit is just as generous, if not more so. The impulse toward hospitality, neighborly charity, and mutual support runs incredibly deep. When disaster strikes, ordinary citizens open their wallets and their homes without a second thought. It’s just what they do… ‎ ‎And Pakistan’s has one of the world’s top class military engineering, a massive national disaster agency (the NDMA), and incredible private charities. The raw capacity is immense. Yet, too often, there is a however a very heartbreaking disconnect between that high-level power and the family standing in ankle deep water in a local neighborhood. An ordinary citizen here once described the country to me using a metaphor I’ve never forgotten: a child that was never allowed to stand on its own feet. An infant isn’t helpless because it lacks potential. It’s helpless because it hasn’t been given the space to build muscle, fall over, adjust its balance, and try again. If an authority figure picks the child up every single time it tries to pull itself up, the child never learns to walk—not from a lack of ability, but because the environment denied it the chance to build strength. ‎ ‎That is how systemic learned dependency takes root: Central authorities assume total control, bypassing local municipal councils. Neighborhoods are given no real budget or authority to fix their own drainage or organize local response teams. And when a flood comes, citizens have no choice but to wait for distant, top-down relief. The authorities look at the waiting crowd and say, “See? The people can’t manage without us.” ‎We witness power centralized even further, deepening the exact helplessness it claims to fix. Over generations, people adapt to the system they are given. If a system rewards waiting for a political patron, people learn to wait for patrons. If it rewards local initiative, communities build habits of self-reliance. It is very easy to blame culture or public apathy for civic passivity, but that misses the point entirely. Culture simply reflects the structural incentives people are given to survive and adapt. It is nature vs nurture and we have a break down when these two things fail to promote a cohesiveness and inclusion of what is a community and what that actually means. ‎ ‎Across the globe, the relationship between state control and citizen participation varies wildly, proving that central authority does not have to mean public powerlessness. In China, a deeply centralized state framework actively structures and expects local neighborhood committees and civil volunteer groups to manage community-level crises. Across much of Europe, comprehensive state safety nets exist alongside highly empowered municipal councils and professionalized local volunteer forces.

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