Muzaffarabad was more than a rally — It was Nawa…

Taxation, constitutional legitimacy & fiscal justice The previous Part VII of this series traced the contributions of Abu Yusuf, Al-Ghazali, Ibn Taymiyyah, Al-Maqrizi and Ibn Khaldun to public finance and political economy. Their works differed in purpose and historical setting, but a common normative framework emerged: justice in public burdens, accountability of authority, consultation in collective decisions, protection against arbitrary appropriation, honest exchange, responsible administration of public resources, wider circulation of wealth and protection of vulnerable citizens. These principles do not provide a ready-made tax code for a modern federation. They offer something more fundamental: standards by which taxation, expenditure and public authority may be judged. The same standards find expression in the constitutional order of Pakistan. Taxation is not legitimate merely because money is required by the state or because a provision has been inserted into a Finance Act. Parliament possesses wide legislative authority, but it is a creature of the Constitution and not its master. It cannot validly enact what the Constitution prohibits, invade a field constitutionally assigned elsewhere or destroy rights and limitations that bind every organ of the state. The proposition appears elementary. Pakistan’s fiscal practice repeatedly ignores it. Article 77 of the Constitution provides that no federal tax shall be levied except by or under the authority of an Act of Parliament. This embodies the historic principle of no taxation without representation. Revenue cannot be extracted through executive preference, administrative instruction or unstructured discretion. Legislative authority must exist. Article 77 is a necessary condition for lawful taxation, not a complete test of constitutional legitimacy. A tax enacted by Parliament must also conform to the distribution of legislative powers, equality before law, due process, protection of property and other constitutional guarantees. Parliamentary form cannot cure substantive constitutional defect. Otherwise, the requirement of constitutional supremacy would be reduced to the proposition that Parliament may do anything so long as it records the command in statutory language. Pakistan is not governed under parliamentary sovereignty in the British sense. It is governed under a written and supreme Constitution. Legislative authority is not unlimited authority The Constitution divides taxing powers between the Federation and provinces. Parliament cannot convert a provincial subject into a federal one merely by changing its label. A levy upon capital value cannot automatically become income tax because it is placed in the Income Tax Ordinance, 2001. A tax upon services cannot be extended to transactions lacking the character of a service merely because additional revenue is desired. The true nature, subject matter and effect of the levy remain decisive. This is particularly important because fiscal pressures create incentives to stretch legislative entries beyond their constitutional purpose. Governments confronting debt servicing, defence expenditure and programme targets naturally seek accessible revenue. Constitutional limitations exist precisely because necessity, convenience and expediency cannot be allowed to determine the boundaries of public power. A Constitution does not become less binding when the treasury is empty. The Supreme Court’s jurisprudence has recognised that Parliament’s taxing competence, though broad, is not without constitutional limits. In Elahi Cotton Mills, the Court accepted substantial legislative latitude in taxation, including the use of legal fictions, classifications and presumptive methods. It also made clear that the legislature cannot tax as “income” something that cannot rationally possess the character of income. The breadth of a legislative entry does not eliminate its essential subject matter.  The same discipline must govern every fiscal enactment. Equality is not arithmetical uniformity Article 25 guarantees equality before law and equal protection of law. Equality does not require every person, transaction or source of income to be taxed identically. Legislatures may classify taxpayers and activities where a real distinction exists and the classification bears a rational relationship to the purpose of the law. The power to classify cannot become a licence to privilege. Pakistan’s tax system contains numerous distinctions based upon source, status, sector, documentation and bargaining power. Salary, dividends, profit on debt, business income, contracts, imports, property income and capital gains are frequently subjected to different rates and regimes. Some differentiation may be justified by collection realities or constitutional allocation. Much of it has emerged through political accommodation rather than coherent principle. A constitutional analysis must therefore ask whether similarly situated persons are treated alike, whether distinctions correspond to genuine economic differences, and whether the burden imposed is reasonably connected with the stated objective. Higher transactional taxes upon “non-filers”, for example, are presented as instruments of documentation. Their constitutional and economic legitimacy becomes doubtful when they operate indefinitely as revenue measures without determining actual income, establishing liability or bringing the person into a genuine assessment system. A temporary incentive to file cannot become a permanent substitute for income taxation. Due process in fiscal administration Article 4 protects the right of every person to be dealt with in accordance with law. Tax administration must consequently involve more than statutory authority to demand money. Liability must be determined through fair procedures, relevant evidence, a meaningful opportunity to respond and access to independent adjudication. Automated notices, coercive recovery, attachment of accounts, blocked refunds and repeated demands without proper examination undermine this constitutional relationship. Technology does not suspend due process. Digital systems can improve matching, risk identification and transparency. They cannot transform an algorithmic suspicion into established liability. The taxpayer must know the basis of the demand, confront the material relied upon and obtain a reasoned determination from a legally competent authority. A revenue system that collects first and examines legality later converts constitutional administration into fiscal compulsion. The Supreme Court’s judgment in Mustafa Impex also reinforced the constitutional identity of executive authority. Statutory powers assigned to the Federal Government cannot automatically be exercised by an individual minister, division or official unless the constitutional and statutory framework permits it. Fiscal measures made through notifications and delegated authority must remain within the limits imposed by the parent legislation and the constitutional structure of government.  Delegation may supply machinery. It cannot create a new taxable event, enlarge the charge or transfer essential legislative choices to the executive. Property,

By Ali Dar Every few weeks, Artificial Intelligence seems to produce another headline. A new model. A larger investment. A faster processor. A company valued in the hundreds of billions. The conversation has become almost entirely centered on the race to build more powerful machines.   I follow these developments with genuine interest. But I often find myself wondering whether we are all looking in the wrong direction. History has a curious habit of reminding us that the inventors of transformative technologies are not always the ones who transform society. James Watt improved the steam engine. It was factories that transformed economies. The internet was built by engineers. It was entrepreneurs, educators, governments and ordinary citizens who changed the way we lived because of it. Technology begins the story. Institutions decide how the story ends. That distinction has occupied my thoughts for some time. Perhaps because I spend more time thinking about government than algorithms. Perhaps because the questions that matter most are no longer technological. They are institutional. People often speak about bureaucracy as though it were an outdated mistake waiting to be dismantled. I see it differently. Modern government was designed for the world in which it existed. Information travelled slowly. Documents moved from one office to another because there was no practical alternative. Decisions climbed through layers of administration because knowledge itself moved through those same layers. Those systems were not inefficient by accident. They were remarkably effective for their time. They created order, consistency and accountability. They allowed governments to function at a scale that had previously been impossible. The challenge today is not that bureaucracy failed. The challenge is that the world around it has changed more quickly than bureaucracy itself. For the first time in history, governments are not struggling because they lack information. They are struggling because they have too much of it. A district administration receives more information in a single week than previous generations of public servants might have encountered in an entire year. Hospitals generate enormous volumes of clinical data. Schools continuously measure educational outcomes. Agriculture increasingly depends upon satellite imagery, weather intelligence and real-time market information. The constraint is no longer access. It is interpretation. That, I believe, changes everything. Artificial Intelligence is often described as a technological revolution. I am beginning to think it is something else. It is an institutional revolution. It’s greatest contribution may not be writing reports or generating images. It’s greatest contribution may be helping institutions distinguish what is important from what is merely available. That is a subtle difference. It is also an enormously important one. Governments have spent the past two decades becoming digital. That was necessary. Files became electronic. Services moved online. Citizens could access information without standing in long queues. These were meaningful achievements. Yet digitisation should never be confused with transformation. Replacing paper with screens does not automatically produce better judgement. A digital government stores information more efficiently. An intelligent government learns from it. There is a profound difference between the two. One preserves knowledge. The other improves decisions. This is why I believe the next chapter of public administration will not be defined by technology alone. It will be defined by institutional learning. Can governments recognise emerging problems before they become crises? Can public services adapt more quickly to changing circumstances? Can policymakers spend less time searching for information and more time exercising judgement? These are leadership questions. Technology merely provides new tools with which to answer them. Around the world, different countries are beginning to explore these possibilities in different ways. Estonia has shown what becomes possible when digital infrastructure is treated as a public utility rather than a technical project. Singapore continues to demonstrate that institutional discipline remains one of the greatest competitive advantages any nation can possess. Neither model should be copied uncritically. Every society carries its own history, institutions and public expectations. Punjab will do the same. Our objective should never be to imitate another government’s technology. It should be to strengthen our own capacity to govern. That is the thinking behind The Office of AI. Contrary to popular perception, its purpose is not simply to introduce Artificial Intelligence into government. Technology, on its own, has never transformed institutions. People do. Leadership does. Culture does. The real ambition is more demanding than digital transformation. It is to cultivate public institutions that learn continuously, coordinate more effectively and ultimately deliver better outcomes for citizens. That is a much harder challenge. It is also a far more worthwhile one. I suspect history will remember this period rather differently from the way we describe it today. It may not be remembered as the moment machines became intelligent. It may be remembered as the moment governments were compelled to become more thoughtful. Perhaps that is the real revolution. Not smarter software but smarter institutions. And if that proves to be true, the defining governments of this century will not be those that purchased the most advanced technology. They will be the ones that developed the wisdom to use it well. About the Author Ali Dar is a software engineer by education, business leader and Advisor to the Chief Minister of Punjab on Artificial Intelligence and Special Initiatives. He writes on the future of governance, Artificial Intelligence, digital transformation and public policy.

We Were Forewarned, Then Why Are We Drowning, and What Lies Ahead In March, when the glaciers were shedding their winter whites too early and the northern valleys stood bare against a sky that should have held snow, I wrote that the coming monsoon would test us. The National Disaster Management Authority had foreseen rains twenty-two to twenty-six percent heavier than the floods that killed more than a thousand souls the year before. Our embankments were still broken. Our protocols were still asleep. It is late July now. The test has begun. Riverine area dwellers stand at the edge of swollen rivers, watching the water turn from brown to something near black, carrying the upstream soil. There is that familiar murmur of disbelief from government corridors—the same soft gasp that follows every flood, as if the water had not been whispering its arrival for months. But the water does not whisper to those who will not bend their ear. It speaks in the language of saturated earth, and we have heard it before. We have simply chosen, again and again, not to listen. We were forewarned by the agencies. We were forewarned by the science. And we were forewarned by the very land beneath our feet—the old, patient land that absorbed until it could absorb no more, and is now quietly drowning. Yet when the skies opened, we were caught unprepared. And the heavy heart of Bhadoon is still to come. What the Old Farmers Knew For generations, the farmers of the Indus Basin have spoken of Sawan and Bhadoon not as months, but as temperaments. Sawan, the early monsoon of July and mid-August, is the gentle guest who fills the earthen pot. Bhadoon, the late monsoon of August and September, is the guest who arrives heavy with sorrow, and finds the door already swollen shut. There is an old understanding in the villages of Punjab and Sindh: if Sawan has been generous—if the rains have fallen day after day without rest—then Bhadoon must be received with care. Not because Bhadoon brings more rain, but because the earth, by the time Bhadoon arrives, has already absorbed all it can hold. The soil is no longer soil. It is a clay pot filled to the lip, trembling at the brim. The next drop does not nourish. It overflows. Modern science calls this Antecedent Moisture Condition. During a gentle Sawan, the land breathes; the rivers rise slowly, politely. But when the early rains come without pause, the land stops breathing. Its lungs fill with water. What was once a sponge becomes something heavy, something waiting. In dry years, only a fraction of rainfall becomes dangerous runoff. But once the soil is saturated, eighty to ninety-five percent of every new drop becomes immediate floodwater. The sponge has no choice. It must release what it cannot hold. It weeps. Nature does not betray us. It simply does what it has always done. It is we who forget the earth, who build our homes upon its floodplains and then feign surprise when the water remembers its ancient path home. The Water Remembers This is not a new story. The water has told it before, and it has told it gently, and we have not listened. In 1955, the Ravi rose with a roar that split the embankments of Lahore’s periphery. The river had been primed for weeks—day after day of July and August rain had filled the soil until the ground could no longer hold the September deluge. The peak at Madhopur was the highest ever recorded. The city woke to find its edges softened, dissolved, gone. In 1992, the same priming filled Mangla and Tarbela to their brims by mid-August. When the early September rains came, Tarbela’s flood-peak reduction capacity collapsed from thirty percent to two percent. The rest surged into the lower plains, uninvited and sorrowful. The engineers knew what was coming. The farmers had only the sound of the river changing pitch—a sound every old farmer knows, a sound that means it is time to gather the children and climb. In 2022, Sindh became an inland sea. Nearly a meter of rain fell on ground that was already thirty percent wetter than it should have been. The water had nowhere to go but into homes, into fields, into the places where people had built their lives on the quiet assumption that the land would always absorb their troubles. The years that followed did not forgive us. In 2023, the Chenab and Jhelum catchments drank until they were full, and when Bhadoon came heavy in September, communities that had barely recovered from 2022 found themselves underwater again. In 2024, the same quiet sorrow played across Sindh and Balochistan—early rains primed the soil, late rains broke the banks, and the katcha communities woke to find their world softened and dissolved. These were not catastrophes on the scale of 2022, but gentle, persistent reminders that the mechanism does not rest, and that a loaded sponge does not care whether the year is famous or forgotten. Then came 2025. The NDMA’s own reports confirmed what the old farmers could have recited without a single instrument: the rain fell on ground that was already wet. The system had no buffer, no forgiveness, no room for error. One thousand and thirty-seven people died. More than two hundred and seventy-five of them were children. Nearly seven million were affected. Three million displaced. Two hundred and twenty-nine thousand, seven hundred and sixty-three homes damaged or destroyed. These are not estimates. These are the quiet names and numbers of a nation that has grown accustomed to forgetting. Now, in 2026, the NDMA warns of an even more intense monsoon. The early snowmelt has already fed the rivers before the clouds even gathered. The reservoirs are high. The soil is full. The sponge is loaded. And Bhadoon has not yet arrived. The Quiet After the Warning The tragedy of this year is not that we did not know. It is that

Federal Minister for Planning Ahsan Iqbal announced that the government will place the National Flood Protection Plan IV before the Council of Common Interests for approval. The price tag is now Rs 700 billion. The same plan was approved by the CCI in 2017 at roughly half that amount. The minister was candid: the previous governments failed to implement it, and the 2022 floods forced a revision. Nearly a decade and a half after the plan was first conceived after the 2010 floods that devastated the country, we are back where we started, except the bill has grown by Rs 360 billion. But there is a problem with the numbers, and it is not a small one. In November 2025, Secretary Water Resources Syed Ali Murtaza testified before the Senate Standing Committee on Water Resources that NFPP-IV comprised 375 schemes with a total cost of Rs 824.493 billion. The provincial component alone stood at Rs 746.961 billion, while the federal share was only Rs 77.533 billion. He told the committee that provinces had refused to contribute their shares, escalating the matter to the CCI. Eight months later, the same plan is being presented at Rs 700 billion with a 50-50 federal-provincial split. The total has been trimmed by roughly Rs 124 billion despite inflation and rising cost of construction, and the provinces’ burden has been halved. A plan that shrinks by fifteen percent despite the increased costs and flips its cost-sharing formula in eight months is not rigorously costed. It is still being negotiated politically, not finalized technically. After the 2022 floods, international donors pledged $11 billion for reconstruction and flood protection. Three years later, Pakistan had utilized less than $3 billion. Finance Minister Muhammad Aurangzeb admitted that Pakistan failed to prepare a single credible, bankable project to access the funds. The money sat in files while the people sat in mud and water. It is one thing to lack funds. It is quite another to hold the funds and lack the institutional capacity to spend them. So when the government now asks for Rs 700 billion, the question is not whether we need the plan. We do. The question is whether we have earned the right to spend it, or are simply paying compound interest on a decade of negligence. In 2017, When the CCI approved the National Flood Protection Plan in 2017, the Punjab Assembly had already passed the Flood Plain Regulation Act of 2016. That Act designated flood plains, mandated annual surveys, prohibited all construction without written permission, and criminalized unauthorized building. Section 20 gave it overriding effect over all other laws. It was a good, careful law. And for ten years, we ignored it. Then came the 2022 floods, killing more than 1,700 and displacing 33 million. The 2023 Punjab Irrigation Act, strengthened the framework further. . Then came the Infrastructure Audit Programme of January 2026, promising to inspect and certify every embankment before the rains. The NDMA had warned in November 2025 that the 2026 monsoon would bring 22 to 26 percent above-normal rainfall. In May, Chairman Lt Gen Inam Haider Malik was briefed the Emergency Response Committee. The warnings were not classified. They were reported in media across the country. And still, on July 31, as the Sawan rains continue and Bhadoon approaches, we are told that a Rs 700 billion plan is about to be placed before the CCI. The human cost of this incompetence is measured in lives, not spreadsheets. Between June 26 and July 25, 2026, NDMA recorded 97 deaths and 297 injuries in rain-related incidents. House and roof collapses were the leading cause, with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa reporting the highest toll, followed by Punjab. The authority evacuated 3,841 people. These are not abstract figures. They are preventable losses and deaths in a country that had years to prepare. Meanwhile, last year’s federal budget slashed water sector allocations by 27 percent, from Rs 184.6 billion to Rs 133.4 billion for the water sector. Even the flagship Diamer-Basha Dam saw reduced priority. The message is clear: politically visible projects win funding; invisible embankments lose it. We are also building vulnerability into the landscape faster than we are building protection. The hundred-arch bridge near Shahdara was designed a century ago to let Ravi floodwater pass freely. In September 2025, the M5 motorway near Jalalpur Pirwala collapsed after the Sutlej River breached its banks, blocking natural channels with inadequate culverts. Modern infrastructure is failing where century-old engineering succeeded because hydrology is no longer part of the design brief. Every stakeholder knows what needs to be done. District officials know where encroachments choke flood channels. Engineers know where embankments need reinforcement. Satellite imagery can map floodplains with precision. Yet these tools are shelved while development authorities continue to approve new roads, schools and BHUs for permanent dwellings that should not have been there to begin with.  New high profile housing schemes are regularized in natural river basins. The National Water Policy, approved by the CCI in April 2018, promised real-time telemetry by the end of 2021 and a National Water Council chaired by the Prime Minister to meet annually. Seven years later, the Council has convened only once, in October 2018. The telemetry system is five years past its deadline. The unfinished cost of ongoing water schemes stands at approximately Rs 1.27 trillion. What would it take to believe this time will be different? Not more money. We have enough money to drown in. What we lack is accountability that lives on the riverbank. The Infrastructure Audit of 2026 must be opened to the public, if it was ever done. The names of every certifying officer who signed off on an embankment must be known, and if a structure fails, the officer must stand beside it and explain. And if not, we need to ask why not? The early warning system must learn to speak to the village, not the province. Alerts must name villages and localaties, expected water levels, and designated evacuation routes. They

The fifth part of this series examined how Pakistan’s strategic location, domestic privileges and recurring external assistance have produced a rent-based political economy. The state has repeatedly obtained temporary relief without undertaking the constitutional and productive transformation required for genuine economic independence. Professor Ehtisham Ahmad’s proposed monograph, Can Pakistan evolve from a dependent “buffer state”? (shared with many including me), raises the right question at the right time. Unlike conventional reports that treat Pakistan merely as an under-taxed developing economy, he recognises the historical relationship between strategic rents, external dependency, fiscal weakness and recurring recourse to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and other lenders. His central concern deserves serious engagement rather than routine approval or dismissal. This part is humble attempt to analyse his proposed monograph. Ehtisham Ahmad argues that Pakistan’s geographic position has periodically enabled it to obtain external assistance as a frontline or buffer state. During the Cold War, the Afghan conflict and the post-9/11 period, strategic usefulness generated substantial inflows. When geopolitical support receded, the IMF and multilateral institutions frequently stepped in to fill the breach. His published study, ‘Political Economy of Tax and Digital Transformations in Pakistan’, similarly connects Pakistan’s stop-go aid experience with its failure to undertake sustainable domestic resource mobilisation.  This is an important advance over revenue-only analysis. Pakistan’s persistent dependence cannot be explained simply by weak tax administration, low compliance or insufficient technical capacity. External rents have reduced the immediate pressure to negotiate a durable fiscal settlement with citizens. They have also strengthened institutions positioned to manage Pakistan’s strategic relationship with external powers. Ehtisham Ahmad is equally persuasive in identifying serious defects in Pakistan’s tax structure. He correctly criticises the conversion of value added tax (VAT) into a production excise, the proliferation of exemptions, the destruction of the invoice chain, cascading, excessive withholding taxation, nuisance levies and the absence of an arms-length administration. His insistence that taxation must be linked with growth, investment, distribution and political economy is entirely justified. His criticism of digitalisation without comprehensive change management is also timely. Computerising defective procedures cannot cure the institutional incentives that produced them. Linking identity numbers, tax registrations, invoices and financial information may improve enforcement, but technology cannot decide whether the law will be applied equally. These insights substantially overlap with the argument developed in this series. The difficulty arises at the next stage. Ehtisham begins with a powerful political-economy diagnosis but gradually returns to a largely public-finance remedy. Pakistan is first presented as a security-dependent buffer state; its continuing weakness is then explained mainly through the Government of India Act 1935, fragmented tax assignments, a split VAT, inadequate provincial own-source revenue and incomplete digital transformation. The analytical journey moves from geopolitics to tax architecture too quickly. Pakistan is not dependent merely because it has a badly designed VAT or an inefficient division of taxing powers. Its tax system has itself been shaped by the distribution of political, institutional and strategic power. Exemptions, withholding taxes, petroleum levies, blocked refunds and arbitrary concessions are not accidental departures from an otherwise neutral system. They reflect bargains through which burdens and benefits are distributed. Fiscal design matters greatly. It cannot by itself explain why successive governments have preserved arrangements that are demonstrably damaging to growth, documentation and equity. Ehtisham assigns considerable importance to the Government of India Act 1935. The Act undoubtedly institutionalised a colonial distribution of legislative and fiscal authority. It divided functions between the centre and provinces while reserving decisive powers for the Governor-General and provincial governors. Its legislative lists influenced the constitutional development of both India and Pakistan.  Colonial inheritance, however, cannot become a substitute for analysing postcolonial responsibility. Pakistan adopted constitutions in 1956, 1962 and 1973. It experienced repeated military interventions, the dismemberment of the country in 1971, presidential centralisation, uneven National Finance Commission Awards, extensive constitutional amendments and decades of external security alliances. Each period involved decisions made by domestic actors possessing agency, interests and power. The present Constitution of 1973 is not pari materia to “1972 Constitution”. The Interim Constitution operated in 1972, whereas the permanent constitutional settlement reached on April 10, 1973. The 1973 became operative from August 14, 1973. This is more than a matter of nomenclature. Pakistan’s fiscal federalism must be examined through the constitutional bargain consciously adopted after the catastrophe of 1971. The Constitution (Eighteenth Amendment) Act, 2010 also cannot be treated simply as Pakistan “doubling down” on the colonial arrangements of 1935. It was a democratic response to prolonged centralisation and an attempt to restore parliamentary federalism, provincial autonomy and the original character of the 1973 Constitution. Problems created by the division of sales tax on goods and services are real. Businesses should not be subjected to multiple registrations, conflicting interpretations, fragmented audits and unnecessary compliance costs.  A common base, harmonised definitions, integrated information, a clearing mechanism and coordinated administration are all necessary. Coordination need not mean re-centralisation. Pakistan’s federation cannot be redesigned solely for the convenience of tax administrators. Fiscal arrangements must also preserve provincial autonomy, democratic accountability and the lessons of constitutional history. A technically elegant centralised system may produce serious political and constitutional costs if imposed without consent. Ehtisham’s historical thesis requires similar caution. He suggests that the British deliberately sought to create a weak and dependent buffer state along the Indus to preserve strategic influence in the continuing “Great Game”. This is a significant hypothesis, deserving investigation through archival evidence. It should not be presented as settled history without fuller documentation. The official Cabinet Mission statement of May 16, 1946 expressly declined to recommend the transfer of power to two completely separate sovereign states. It proposed a Union dealing with foreign affairs, defence and communications, while residuary powers would remain with the provinces and provinces could form groups.  The document may be interpreted in different ways, but its stated scheme was for a united, highly decentralised India rather than the immediate creation of a separate buffer state.  Claims that the NWFP (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa) referendum was secured through ballot stuffing, that

By Waqar Malik The foundation of independent, responsible, and impartial journalism is balance, honesty, and fairness. Criticism is an essential part of journalism; however, a true understanding of any country’s situation requires a comprehensive view of its historical, political, economic, regional, and security circumstances. A one-sided analysis may highlight certain realities, but it cannot represent the complete picture. The German newspaper DW has raised several concerns and critical observations regarding Pakistan’s political, economic, and security situation. No country should be considered beyond criticism, and accountability is an important element of democracy. However, criticism must also be accompanied by balance, context, and a comparative perspective. If the challenges of a country are discussed, its sacrifices, achievements, and ground realities should also be presented with equal fairness. Pakistan is often portrayed as a country facing political instability, economic difficulties, and security challenges. However, an important question remains: is there any country in today’s world that is completely free from such challenges? Inflation, unemployment, political disagreements, social issues, and governance challenges are not unique to Pakistan. They are global realities affecting nations across the world. Germany, one of the world’s leading economies, is facing economic pressures, including rising energy costs, challenges within its industrial sector, concerns regarding employment, and economic uncertainty. Similarly, countries such as the United Kingdom, France, and the United States continue to experience inflation, political divisions, public protests, and social challenges. Therefore, highlighting the problems of one country while ignoring similar difficulties faced by others cannot be considered a complete and balanced analysis. Every nation must be understood within the context of its own history, geography, political environment, and security needs. Freedom of Expression: Is Pakistan Being Judged by a Different Standard? Pakistan is frequently criticised regarding freedom of expression, democratic values, and human rights. Such discussions are necessary in every democratic society. However, an important question must also be asked: is Pakistan being judged by the same standards applied to other countries? In Pakistan, political leaders, opposition representatives, journalists, lawyers, and members of civil society openly express their views on governments, state institutions, and national affairs. Political debates, speeches, and different opinions are widely discussed through media platforms. On various occasions, statements from detained political figures have also been reported prominently in the media. This raises an important comparative question: do individuals in custody in countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, France, or Germany receive exactly the same level of media access and opportunity to express their political views? In many democratic countries, detention laws are strictly implemented, and access to media is regulated according to legal procedures. Therefore, discussions about Pakistan’s freedom of expression should also consider international comparisons and broader realities. The right to peaceful protest is a fundamental democratic right, and Pakistan’s Constitution recognises this principle. However, every right comes with responsibilities. Pakistan has witnessed political protests that have continued for weeks and, in some cases, months. On certain occasions, major roads were blocked, public life was disrupted, and damage to public and private property was reported. Despite these challenges, governments have often chosen dialogue, patience, and political engagement instead of excessive use of force. In every democracy around the world, the right to protest exists within the framework of law. No democratic society allows violence, vandalism, threats, or the disruption of public order under the name of political expression. Pakistan should neither seek exceptional treatment nor be judged by different standards. The Role of Pakistan’s Armed Forces and National Defence Some analysts describe Pakistan’s political system as a hybrid system. However, another important perspective also deserves consideration. Pakistan’s armed forces have made significant sacrifices for national defence, security, and the fight against terrorism. Thousands of soldiers and officers have lost their lives while protecting the country’s sovereignty, stability, and security. Pakistan’s geographical position places it in a complex security environment. Located at the crossroads of South Asia, Central Asia, and the Middle East, Pakistan faces unique regional and international challenges. There is also criticism that Pakistan’s armed forces are involved in business and commercial activities. However, this matter can also be viewed from another perspective. Pakistan’s defence requirements are extensive, and investments in various institutions and projects are aimed at supporting defence needs, welfare activities, and reducing unnecessary pressure on national resources. Many countries around the world allow their military institutions to participate in research, technology, industry, development projects, and humanitarian activities. The United States and other developed nations have similar examples where defence-related organisations contribute to national development and innovation. Therefore, such policies should be assessed on the basis of national interest, transparency, effectiveness, and contribution to society rather than through criticism alone. For more than four decades, Pakistan has paid a heavy price due to regional conflicts and global security challenges. The consequences of the war in Afghanistan, participation in the international fight against terrorism, hosting millions of refugees, and the loss of thousands of precious lives have deeply affected the country. Pakistan has made enormous sacrifices in combating terrorism and has achieved significant successes in restoring security and stability. Despite these challenges, Pakistan continues to contribute towards regional peace and international cooperation. The Kashmir dispute remains one of the longest unresolved conflicts in South Asia. Pakistan supports the right of the Kashmiri people to self-determination in accordance with relevant United Nations resolutions and continues to advocate a peaceful and diplomatic solution. Pakistan’s stated position has consistently been based on dialogue, diplomacy, and peaceful engagement. Sustainable peace in South Asia can only be achieved through mutual respect, understanding, and peaceful resolution of disputes. The Situation in Azad Kashmir and the Government’s Approach The situation in Azad Kashmir demonstrates the importance of dialogue and political engagement during times of tension. A responsible state must ensure law and order, protect the lives and property of citizens, and seek constitutional and democratic solutions to public concerns. The right to protest is a democratic right, but it cannot justify violence, firing, destruction of property, threats against state institutions, or taking the law into