Fiscal turnaround—or fiscal illusion?

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

By Tuba Khan Informal networks represent an extremely important yet widely ignored aspect of governance, especially within developing nations whose formal administrative apparatus is either weak or disputed. Informal institutions refer to uncodified norms and traditions that influence decision-making processes in ways beyond the reach of legal processes. As far as the informal networks are concerned, they can include networks of patronage, kinship and alliances based on personal connections. In countries with hybrid governance structures such as Pakistan where formalized democratic mechanisms co-exist with informal structures, a clear distinction between formal institutions from informal institutions must be made for effective governance. In Pakistan, informal networks do not exist in parallel with institutionalized structures of governance; they actually become the central point around which power operates. Despite having formal governmental structures intact, the informal networks become quite important and influential. There exists a high level of interaction between political, military, bureaucratic and commercial elites. The origins of the informal networks in Pakistan’s governance system are rooted in the colonial era when the governance system of the British was based mainly on the principles of indirect governance. Alongside formal institutionalized structures of governance, the colonial rulers gave powers to local intermediaries in the form of local landlords, tribal chieftains and other local power-brokers. This led to the development of patronage systems and kinship power, which were based on caste and biradari relations. Since its inception in 1947, Pakistan has experienced a very weak governance system. In the absence of stable and fully consolidated democratic institutions, the informal networks took on greater importance in political activities. These informal networks were strengthened by the repeated involvement of the powerful actors in political matters. The periods of outright military takeover or indirect control through civilian regimes cemented a structure where important decisions were frequently taken without recourse to institutionalized processes. The military, along with bureaucrats and politicians, established networks that could affect the policy agenda, political succession and even national interests. Resultantly, this trend continued to blur the lines between formal and informal authority. Islamization strategies of the 1970s and 1980s further broadened the informal networks by involving religious figures in the politics of Pakistan. Religious leaders can trigger religious sentiments and thus influence public opinion according to the needs of influential networks. So, in many cases, the government depended on the clergy and their organizations to mobilize mass support, which gave rise to interchanges of mutual benefits between religious and political authorities. Since the 1990s, liberalization in the economy and growth of the media industry have introduced new players into informal networks. Informal networks have several mechanisms within Pakistan through which they exercise their authority. Patronage stands out as one such mechanism where rewards and resources, such as employment opportunities within the public sector, campaign financing and even electoral loyalty are offered in exchange for support. On the other hand, back-channel negotiations conducted outside formal channels, such as Parliament and cabinet meetings, are vital in influencing the decision-making process of the state. Furthermore, elites are capable of hijacking policy-making processes and diverting resources in ways beneficial to themselves. Additionally, the media often mobilize people and give political power some form of moral legitimacy through propaganda. There are many implications of the existence of informal networks on the efficiency of the governance process. One of the major impacts is the undermining of formal institutional structures and electoral practices. Checks and balances, as well as the legislative process itself are often ignored or used solely for show purposes, while the real process of decision-making is handled through the use of private contacts and backdoor diplomacy. Another important implication is that the culture of corruption and inefficiency continues to persist. Patronage-driven systems tend to give preference to loyalty as opposed to competence, which leads to the appointment of people and the distribution of resources in a manner that is unrelated to development and the needs of the people at large. Policies tend to be revised according to changes in the interests of those in positions of authority, ultimately hindering the way to stability. To counter the effects of informal networks in Pakistan, the gradual development of formal institutions needs to take place instead of abruptly altering the current political environment. The starting point for designing a reform package is to redefine the role of the state. It is critical to ensure institutional independence, transparency of decision-making processes, meritocracy, citizen participation, press freedom and the accountability for the excessive influence of religious and economic elites to decrease dependence on informal institutions. Prevalence of informal political institutions in Pakistan causes several problems for the country’s political system. Formal institutions are often sidelined or rendered symbolic, leading to policy inconsistency and the undermining of democratic accountability. Nevertheless, the existence of informal groups is entrenched in the system and cannot be completely eliminated, their impact can be progressively restricted. This serves as an indication that reforms should be incremental and continuous

When the highest echelons of a state pronounce that the apparatus of governance has completely collapsed, it ceases to be merely the remark of a federal minister. Instead, it becomes a stark, involuntary confession of the internal decay inherent in a post-colonial state structure—a testament that indelibly seals the collective and systemic failure of the ruling class. To any conscious citizen, political worker, or student of history, this acknowledgment contains little novelty; the populace has long been ground to dust by the gears of this obsolete machinery, experiencing its failure as an everyday reality. The true astonishment lies in hearing this unvarnished truth uttered from the very center of power. One is compelled to ask: what intellectual evolution prompts the masters of the state to confess to their own institutional bankruptcy? Is this an enlightened realization paving the way for genuine reform, or is it merely the prelude to a new political experiment—a fresh authoritarian corset designed to tighten the controls of a shifting state arrangement? History stands as a grim witness that whenever the crisis of the state is magnified by its custodians, the ultimate objective is invariably to sabotage constitutional continuity and clear the path for elite capture or adventurous political engineering. Time and again, this tragedy has been inflicted upon the nation’s destiny. The nation has repeatedly witnessed the rise of self-proclaimed saviors who concentrated all fountainheads of power within their own persons, only to leave behind a hollow illusion of stability that dissolved like a house of sand upon their departure, plunging the country into irreparable geographic, economic, and political trauma. Today, ominous signals point toward the resurrection of this very same discredited formula. The echoes of a renewed stranglehold and a controlled democracy emanating from the rhetoric of the interior ministry betray an elite class fundamentally terrified of true popular sovereignty and constitutional supremacy. For the past seventy years, this nation has been systematically denied a genuine democratic evolution because dominant power centers have persistently sought to subordinate all state organs to their exclusive writ. To dismiss this systemic trauma merely as a functional glitch in administration is to indulge in a deliberate evasion of reality. The truth is that this is not the collapse of a mere administrative mechanism, but rather the manifestation of Hamza Alavi’s classic thesis of the over-developed state—a persistent structural crisis dominated by entrenched elite capture. Within this post-colonial framework, the coercive control mechanisms of the British Raj have been preserved intact, where the primary objective of the state remains the extraction of resources and the concentration of power rather than public welfare. When political expression is stifled, electoral outcomes are systematically engineered, and parliament is reduced to a rubber stamp, the resulting paralysis is entirely inevitable. The crisis of governance is, at its core, a profound crisis of legitimacy. No administrative superstructure can endure without the genuine, uncoerced mandate of the people. When state policy-makers declare that the system has collapsed, they are essentially confessing to their own fiscal insolvency and administrative bankruptcy. Yet, the tragedy of this confession lies in its utility: rather than diagnosing the foundational causes, they weaponize this failure as a pretext to tighten their grip on power. History teaches us that whenever economic or administrative pressures mount, the centers of power invariably bypass the spirit of the constitution to erode it further. The dangerous concentration of authority in a few hands, the freefall of economic indicators, and the formulation of policies under the duress of international financial institutions—all while excluding the citizenry from meaningful participation—constitute the real malignancy eating away at the state. Democracy is far more than casting a ballot once every few years; it is an active architecture built on inclusive policymaking, freedom of expression, the rule of law, and the uncompromising protection of fundamental human rights. When these values are systematically strangled, the collapse of governance is not an accident, but a natural law. The priorities of the ruling elite have never accommodated the welfare of the common citizen. State resources are routinely sacrificed at the altar of corporate privileges, elite exemptions, and inflated administrative expenditures, while foundational human rights—education, health, and justice—are systematically withheld from the masses. History offers a relentless warning: states are not experimental laboratories where arbitrary political models can be tested on a whim. From Ayub Khan’s Basic Democracies to Zia-ul-Haq’s Majlis-e-Shoora, and Pervez Musharraf’s devolution experiments, every single top-down engineering project ended exclusively in national fragmentation and internal turmoil. Each time, a new savior arrives claiming to smash the system, only to leave the country deeper in the mire before exiting the stage. Should the interior minister’s declaration be used this time to midwife yet another hybrid experiment or authoritarian arrangement, it will prove fatal to the nation’s remaining political existence. Escaping this vicious cycle of institutional decay demands moving beyond raw emotion and tired conspiracy theories to embrace a rigorous, actionable roadmap for structural reform that must unfold with absolute urgency. First and foremost, political will must be harnessed to draft a comprehensive framework of constitutional and legal reforms that restores parliament to its rightful position of supremacy, ensuring that executive interference in legislation is thoroughly eliminated and parliamentary committees are empowered to reflect genuine public representation. In tandem with this, a revolutionary structural overhaul of the civil and military bureaucracies remains non-negotiable, requiring the archaic and paternalistic colonial-era administrative model to be dismantled and replaced with a modern public service framework rooted entirely in direct public accountability. Furthermore, fiscal autonomy and equitable resource distribution must be granted to the federal units as an imperative measure, systematically redirecting national wealth away from elite extravagance toward foundational public infrastructure, education, and healthcare for the marginalized segments of society. Finally, the judicial system must be thoroughly reformed to guarantee the common citizen swift and affordable access to justice, effectively resolving systemic contradictions through transparent legal recourse rather than arbitrary administrative fiat. The federal interior minister’s warning that the system has collapsed must therefore serve as an

Artificial Intelligence is transforming the world at an unprecedented pace. From healthcare and agriculture to finance, education, and manufacturing, AI is changing how people work, learn, and solve problems. Countries across the globe are redesigning their education systems to prepare students for a technology-driven future. They are investing in coding, robotics, digital literacy, critical thinking, and innovation. Outdated Curriculum, Untrained Teachers, and Obsolete Classrooms Are Holding Back the Nation’s Future Pakistan, however, appears to be moving at a much slower pace. While developed nations are preparing children for careers that may not even exist today, millions of Pakistani students continue to study from outdated textbooks, rely on rote memorization, and learn in classrooms equipped with little more than blackboards and chalk. This growing disconnect raises an important question: How can Pakistan expect its youth to compete globally when they are being educated with a curriculum designed for the past? Education is the engine of economic growth and national development. Every successful nation has built its progress on a strong education system that evolves with changing times. Unfortunately, Pakistan’s school curriculum has not kept pace with technological advancement or the demands of the modern labour market. Although some reforms have been introduced over the years, many textbooks still contain outdated examples, obsolete concepts, and teaching methods that fail to develop analytical thinking and creativity. The world no longer rewards students simply for memorizing information. Search engines and AI can provide facts within seconds. What employers increasingly value are skills that machines cannot easily replace critical thinking, creativity, communication, collaboration, leadership, emotional intelligence, and the ability to solve complex problems. Yet our examination system still rewards memorization more than understanding. One of the biggest weaknesses of Pakistan’s education system is the gap between classroom learning and market needs. Universities and employers frequently complain that graduates lack practical knowledge and workplace skills. Many young people spend years earning degrees only to discover they are not prepared for modern careers. This mismatch contributes to unemployment despite rising educational qualifications. School curricula should therefore be redesigned around future skills. Coding, artificial intelligence, robotics, data literacy, entrepreneurship, financial education, climate science, environmental sustainability, cybersecurity, and digital citizenship should become part of mainstream education. These are no longer luxury subjects reserved for elite schools; they are becoming basic requirements for the global economy. Equally important is the way children are taught. Modern education encourages students to ask questions, conduct experiments, work in teams, debate ideas, and solve real-life problems. Unfortunately, many Pakistani classrooms continue to rely on one-way lectures where students quietly copy notes from the blackboard. Such methods may help children pass examinations, but they do little to prepare them for innovation or leadership. This is why teacher training deserves urgent national attention. Teachers cannot be expected to teach twenty-first-century skills using twentieth-century training. Continuous professional development should become mandatory for all teachers. They should receive regular training in digital learning, classroom technology, student-centred teaching, project-based learning, and modern assessment methods. A well-trained teacher can transform even a modest classroom, while an untrained teacher may struggle despite having excellent textbooks. Technology must also become an integral part of learning. Around the world, interactive digital boards, multimedia presentations, educational software, virtual laboratories, and online learning platforms are making classrooms more engaging and effective. In contrast, many government schools in Pakistan still depend on blackboards, chalk, and outdated teaching aids. There is nothing inherently wrong with blackboards they have educated generations of students. However, they cannot be the only teaching tool in an era when digital technology dominates every profession. Students who have never interacted with computers, digital content, or smart classrooms are already at a disadvantage before they enter higher education or the job market. Modernizing classrooms does not necessarily require replacing every blackboard overnight. Pakistan can adopt a phased approach. Schools should first be provided with reliable electricity, internet connectivity where possible, projectors, computers, and digital learning resources. Low-cost technology can significantly improve learning outcomes if combined with trained teachers and updated curricula. Education must also become more relevant to Pakistan’s own challenges. Students should learn about water scarcity, climate change, renewable energy, sustainable agriculture, disaster management, public health, financial planning, and responsible citizenship. Such knowledge not only strengthens the economy but also helps communities solve local problems. The government must increase investment in education. For many years, Pakistan has allocated a relatively small share of its national resources to education compared with what experts recommend for developing countries. Without sustained investment in schools, teacher development, educational technology, and curriculum reform, meaningful progress will remain difficult. Parents, educators, policymakers, universities, and the private sector all have a role to play. Education should not be shaped solely by examination boards. Industry leaders, technology experts, researchers, and experienced teachers should contribute to curriculum development so that what children learn reflects the realities of today’s world. Pakistan’s greatest resource is not its minerals or natural wealth, it is its young population. Millions of talented children possess the intelligence, curiosity, and determination to succeed. What they need is an education system that unlocks their potential instead of limiting it. Artificial Intelligence will reshape every sector of society during the coming decades. Countries that prepare their children today will lead tomorrow’s global economy. Those that continue teaching outdated syllabi will struggle to keep pace. The choice before Pakistan is clear. We can continue relying on obsolete textbooks, examination-driven learning, blackboards, and chalk while the rest of the world embraces AI and digital innovation. Or we can modernize our curriculum, invest in teachers, equip classrooms with appropriate technology, and prepare our children for the future. The future cannot be built with yesterday’s education. If Pakistan truly wants its youth to compete on the global stage, the time to reform our schools is not tomorrow it is today.

Dr Pervez Butt died on the 26th of July, 2026, at the age of 84, and with him Pakistan lost one of the last living architects of its nuclear age. The obituaries will rightly recount the long arc of his public service: joining the Pakistan Atomic Energy Commission in 1963, cutting his teeth on the design of KANUPP-I, Pakistan’s first commercial nuclear power plant, spending years at GE Canada absorbing the discipline of reactor engineering, and eventually rising to chair the PAEC from 2001 to 2006 — a tenure during which he oversaw the expansion of Chashma and laid groundwork that would carry Pakistan’s nuclear power programme well into this century. He would go on to serve as Federal Secretary for Science and Technology, as an adviser at the Planning Commission, and, until his final days, as a quiet counsel to the National Command Authority. Nishan-i-Imtiaz, Hilal-i-Imtiaz, Sitara-i-Imtiaz — the honours are a matter of record.     But I did not know him first as a chairman or a decorated public servant. I knew him as a teacher who happened to hold the keys to some of the country’s most consequential engineering decisions, and who chose, for reasons I am still grateful for, to hand a few of those keys to me. I want to remember him the way I actually experienced him — not through the official biography, but through three long afternoons at his house in F-11 Sector, Islamabad, where he taught me something the textbooks never quite manage: how the price of nuclear electricity in Pakistan is actually determined. Anyone who has sat through a lecture on tariff determination knows how dry the subject can be made to sound — EPC cost, fuel cost, capacity purchase price, energy purchase price, indexation, decommissioning liability. Dr. Butt made none of it dry. He made it a ritual. Each session began the same way, and the way it began told you everything about the man. There was no walking straight into the numbers. First came tea — always a full spread of dry fruits, delicate sandwiches, fresh fruit, chana chaat, and cappuccino. It was in his drawing room that I had my first Cortado, and my first Mocha, both poured by a man who clearly took as much pride in introducing a good cup of coffee as he did in explaining a heat-rate calculation. Only once the plates were cleared did the real class begin. He held nothing back. The sessions ran from ten in the morning until nearly four in the afternoon — six hours at a stretch, with no formal lunch break at all. Instead, somewhere past midday, a trolley would appear, loaded with Lahori chanay and naan, and he would keep teaching straight through it, tariff formulas in one breath and the economics of fuel fabrication cost in the next, a piece of naan in hand the whole time. I have sat in university seminars with more structure and far less learned. What I remember most, though, is the break. Every two hours, without fail, he would stop — not because he was tired, but because he knew I smoked, and he had built an orchard directly across the road from his house for exactly this purpose. We would walk over together, and his waiter would already be there ahead of us, a fresh cappuccino on the table, an ashtray set out with wet tissue paper folded neatly beside it — a small, deliberate touch that told you this man planned for his guests down to the last detail. And it was in that orchard, not at his desk, that the real teaching happened. He would ask me, plainly, to repeat back what I had just understood. Not to test me — to correct me, gently, if I had drifted, and to make sure the idea had actually landed before we walked back inside for the next round. I was, I suspect, an unlikely student for him to invest that kind of care in. I have never been a person drawn to nuclear energy for its own sake — the physics of it, the fission and the neutrons and the reactor cores, left me largely unmoved. What pulled me toward him was the economics: how a country decides what a unit of nuclear electricity should cost, how the capital recovery on a plant like K-2 or C-3 gets built into a tariff, how fuel cost and EPC cost and decommissioning liability all get stitched together into a number that regulators can defend and the public can pay. That was the language I wanted to learn, and he taught it to me the way he taught everything — thoroughly, patiently, and without ever once looking at the clock. Looking back, I think that was the most VIP treatment anyone taught by him could have asked for — not a title, not a certificate, but three full days of a man who had chaired the PAEC choosing to spend his mornings, his working lunches, and his smoking breaks making sure a subject I hadn’t cared about a week earlier had become one I could speak on with confidence. Pakistan will remember Dr. Pervez Butt for KANUPP and Chashma, for the plants he helped design and the institutions he helped build — the Pakistan Welding Institute, the nondestructive testing facility at Taxila, decades spent quietly ensuring that a technically demanding and politically sensitive programme kept working. Those achievements belong to the history books, and they are considerable. I will remember the orchard. I will remember a Cortado poured by a man who insisted the tea come before the tariff, and a lecture that never stopped even for lunch. That was his real gift — not just what he knew, but how completely he was willing to give his time to make sure someone else knew it too. Rest well, sir. The lesson stayed.

Every few months, Punjab returns to the same debate. Dog bites increase, public anxiety rises, and municipal authorities respond with culling campaigns. Dogs are shot, statements are issued, and for a few days it appears that decisive action has been taken. Then nothing changes. The bites continue, waste continues to pile up, and the cycle begins again. The uncomfortable truth is that Punjab does not have a stray dog problem in isolation. It has a waste management problem, an urban planning problem, and ultimately, a governance problem. One only needs to travel through the outskirts of Lahore or many of Punjab’s cities to see overflowing waste heaps, open dumping grounds, discarded food waste, and slaughterhouse refuse left unattended. These sites provide a constant food source for free-roaming animals. Where food accumulates, animals follow. This is not unique to Pakistan; it is basic ecology. Street dogs do not manufacture garbage. They survive on what human beings leave behind. As long as our streets, markets, canals and vacant plots continue to function as open feeding grounds, no amount of culling will produce a lasting reduction in dog populations. Removing one group of animals from an area where food remains plentiful simply creates space for others to move in. For decades, Punjab has relied on culling as its primary response, yet dog bites and rabies continue to challenge public health. That record alone should force us to ask whether we are treating the disease or merely its symptoms. The issue extends far beyond dog bites. Poor waste management contributes to contaminated water, insect infestations, rodent populations, respiratory illnesses and the spread of infectious diseases. It burdens hospitals, damages the environment and undermines the quality of life in our cities. Every neglected dumping site becomes a reminder that sanitation is not merely a municipal service; it is a public health obligation. This is precisely why the constitutional right to life under Article 9 has, over the years, been interpreted by Pakistan’s superior courts to include the right to live in a healthy and clean environment. Environmental jurisprudence in Pakistan has consistently recognised that life means far more than mere existence. It includes the conditions necessary for a life of dignity, health and safety. When waste remains unmanaged and environmental hazards are ignored, these constitutional guarantees lose much of their meaning. Animal welfare forms part of this larger constitutional conversation. Justice Athar Minallah’s jurisprudence transformed the legal understanding of animals in Pakistan by recognising that they are living beings with intrinsic value rather than mere property. More recently, Justice Khadim Hussain Soomro reaffirmed that cruelty towards animals cannot be separated from the constitutional promise of a humane and civilised society. These decisions did not elevate animal welfare above human welfare. They recognised that the two are inseparable. A society that neglects its environment inevitably harms both people and animals. That is why the internationally accepted One Health approach has become increasingly important. It rejects the false choice between protecting humans and protecting animals. Instead, it recognises that the health of people, animals and the environment are interdependent. Rabies control, waste management, environmental protection and humane animal population management are all part of the same public health strategy. Unfortunately, events on the ground often tell a different story. Reports continue to surface of dogs being shot despite the adoption of more humane management policies. Even more troubling are allegations that animal carcasses are sometimes left exposed instead of being disposed of through proper veterinary and municipal protocols. Around areas such as Saggian Pull, residents have repeatedly raised concerns about carcasses remaining in the open. If these reports are accurate, they expose a profound contradiction. Animals are killed in the name of preventing disease, yet their remains are allegedly left in conditions that can themselves create environmental and health hazards. Exposed carcasses attract scavengers, contaminate the surrounding environment, encourage insect activity and reflect a complete breakdown in biosecurity practices. Disease prevention does not end when an animal dies. Proper disposal is an essential part of public health. The solution does not lie in choosing between protecting people and protecting animals. That has always been a false debate. The real choice is between science and symbolism. Science tells us that cleaner cities, effective waste collection, proper disposal of slaughterhouse waste, vaccination programmes, sterilisation, environmental management and public education reduce disease risks far more effectively than periodic culling campaigns. Symbolism tells us that firing a gun creates the appearance of action while leaving the underlying causes untouched. Punjab has an opportunity to move beyond crisis management. It can strengthen municipal waste systems, enforce environmental laws, implement the Animal Birth Control Policy in both letter and spirit, improve vaccination programmes, and ensure that every department responsible for public health, veterinary services, local government and environmental protection works as part of a coordinated strategy rather than in isolation. The Constitution already points us in that direction. The courts have reinforced it. Science supports it. What remains is the political will to recognise that cleaner cities will save more human lives than another culling campaign ever could. Until Punjab confronts the mountains of waste accumulating in its streets, vacant plots and waterways, it will continue fighting the consequences of environmental neglect while ignoring the source of the problem. Bullets may remove a dog from sight, but they cannot remove the garbage that brought it there in the first place.