Nelson Mandela: The Statesman Who Transformed the …

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

In the story of Pakistan’s creation, certain names shine with a brightness that time cannot dim. Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah stands as the founder of the nation, but standing quietly, resolutely, and often invisibly beside him for over two decades was his younger sister, Fatima Jinnah. History remembers her as Madar-e-Millat, the Mother of the Nation, a title she earned not through political office or public spectacle, but through an entire life of sacrifice, loyalty, intellect, and quiet strength. She was a woman decades ahead of her time, a qualified dental surgeon, a fiercely independent thinker, a stylish and modern presence in gharara and sleeveless blouse, and a woman who chose singlehood not out of misfortune but out of conviction. Her life offers Pakistani women today a template of dignity, purpose, and self-possession that remains as relevant now as it was in the twentieth century. Born on July 30, 1893, in Karachi, Fatima Jinnah grew up in a household that valued learning, even when it was unusual for girls of that era to pursue higher education. She enrolled at the University of Calcutta and earned a degree in dental surgery from Dr. R. Ahmed Dental College, becoming one of the first Muslim women in South Asia to qualify as a dentist. In 1923, she opened her own dental clinic in Bombay. This was no small achievement. At a time when most women of her class and background were confined to domestic roles, Fatima Jinnah built a professional identity through her own intellect and discipline. Her clinic flourished, and she earned both financial independence and social respect as a successful, self-made professional woman. She was, in every sense, a pioneer of women’s participation in modern professions in the subcontinent. Fatima Jinnah’s life took a defining turn following the death of Ruttie Jinnah, the Quaid’s wife, in 1929. Ruttie’s passing left both Muhammad Ali Jinnah and his young daughter Dina in a state of profound grief and vulnerability. It was at this moment that Fatima made a choice that would alter the course of her own life entirely, she closed her thriving dental practice and moved in with her brother to manage his household, raise Dina, and become his constant companion and confidante. This decision deserves to be understood not as a passive act of familial duty, but as a deliberate and enormous personal sacrifice. She was a woman who had built something of her own, a career, an income, an identity outside of any man’s shadow, and she set it aside willingly. From that point onward, she devoted herself entirely to supporting her brother’s political mission, managing his correspondence, organizing his household, accompanying him on tours across India, and providing the emotional steadiness that allowed him to focus on the arduous struggle for Pakistan. She sat beside him in All India Muslim League sessions, engaged with women’s wings of the movement, and became, in effect, his closest advisor on personal and even political matters. Few sacrifices in the history of the Pakistan Movement are as understated yet as consequential as this one. Fatima Jinnah’s devotion did not waver even after Pakistan was achieved. She remained with her brother through the exhausting, health-depleting years of his final illness. As the Quaid battled tuberculosis while simultaneously trying to steer a fragile new nation through its most turbulent infancy, it was Fatima who nursed him, traveled with him to Ziarat in his final days, and stayed resolutely at his bedside. When Muhammad Ali Jinnah breathed his last on September 11, 1948, Fatima Jinnah was there, not as a bystander, but as the one who had walked every step of that difficult journey with him. Her presence at his deathbed was the culmination of nearly two decades of unwavering companionship, sacrifice, and quiet strength. What makes Fatima Jinnah’s legacy even richer is the manner in which she carried herself. She was educated, articulate, and thoroughly modern in her outlook, yet she remained rooted in her cultural identity. She was famously elegant in her choice of dress, often seen in a gharara paired with a sleeveless blouse, a look that exuded both grace and quiet confidence. She wore her modernity with the same ease with which she wore her dupatta, never feeling the need to choose between tradition and progress. In photographs from that era, she appears composed, dignified, and utterly self-assured, a woman entirely comfortable in her own skin. Equally striking was her decision never to marry. In a society where marriage was, and often still is, treated as the singular measure of a woman’s worth and completeness, Fatima Jinnah chose a different path, not out of compulsion or circumstance, but by her own free will. She dedicated her life to her brother, to her country, and to her own principles. Later in her life, she also emerged as a formidable political figure in her own right, contesting the 1965 presidential election against General Ayub Khan and becoming a symbol of democratic resistance for a generation of Pakistanis. Fatima Jinnah’s life is not simply a chapter in a history book; it is a living lesson for Pakistani women today. She demonstrated that a woman could be professionally accomplished and personally devoted, modern in appearance and deeply principled in character, unmarried by choice and yet utterly complete as a person. She showed that sacrifice does not diminish a woman’s strength, it can, in fact, define it. In an age where women are still often measured by narrow societal expectations, Fatima Jinnah’s example urges us to reclaim our own definitions of dignity, purpose, and self-worth. As Pakistani women, we owe it to ourselves to emulate not merely her style, the elegant gharara, the graceful bearing but the substance behind it; her education, her independence, her unwavering integrity, and her refusal to be defined by anyone else’s expectations. Madar-e-Millat did not simply stand beside the founder of a nation; she stood as a model for what a Pakistani woman could be, then, and now.

The most pitiable creature I know is not the beggar who asks for bread but the gentleman who must borrow a personality. He dresses in another man’s taste, speaks in another man’s phrases and mistakes imitation for refinement. He is everywhere respectable and nowhere original. Nations occasionally acquire the same unfortunate habit. Their politics become echoes, their ideals reflections, and their revolutions little more than borrowed costumes. There was a time when borrowing was the necessity of poverty. We borrowed machines because we had no factories, medicines because we had no laboratories, and books because we had no presses. Such borrowing was neither shameful nor unusual; indeed, civilisation itself advances through exchange. The Greeks borrowed from Egypt, the Arabs preserved and enlarged the inheritance of Greece, Europe rediscovered Aristotle through Muslim Spain, and Japan modernised by learning from the West without surrendering its soul. Borrowing knowledge is the beginning of wisdom. Borrowing identity is the beginning of decline. There is another form of borrowing that no customs official can intercept and no tariff can discourage. It enters silently through the imagination. A society begins by borrowing opinions, then aspirations, then indignation. Before long, it borrows its heroes, its villains, its vocabulary and, eventually, its revolutions. It ceases to ask, “What does our history require?” and instead asks, “Whose history should we imitate?” That, I fear, is the predicament into which much of Pakistan’s public discourse has drifted. During the past several weeks, social media has been flooded with admiration for the recent political resistance witnessed across the border in India. Video clips have travelled faster than thoughtful analysis. Slogans have crossed the Wagah frontier with greater ease than ideas. Among countless young Pakistanis one question has become almost fashionable, Why can’t Pakistan have a movement like this? The question is understandable. It is also profoundly revealing. Hidden within it is an assumption that our political future must resemble somebody else’s present; that history unfolds according to a universal script; that every nation matures by repeating the experience of another. It is an assumption born not of confidence but of intellectual dependency. The tragedy, therefore, is not that Pakistanis admire another people’s courage. Every decent society can appreciate courage wherever it appears. The tragedy is that many have become convinced that courage itself must now be imported. We seem increasingly unable to recognise our own political inheritance unless it first receives foreign approval. This habit is hardly confined to politics. It has become the defining condition of our intellectual life. We borrow theories from European universities before examining our own social realities. We borrow ideological fashions from America before asking whether they illuminate Pakistani society. We borrow debates from social media and mistake them for scholarship. We consume outrage manufactured elsewhere and wear it as though it were tailored for our own circumstances. We have become, in the deepest sense of the phrase, tenants in the house of our own imagination. The irony is painful. No civilisation lacking confidence in itself has ever become creative. Creation begins where imitation ends. Shakespeare borrowed stories but produced Hamlet. Iqbal studied Nietzsche and Bergson yet remained unmistakably Iqbal. Muhammad Ali Jinnah mastered the constitutional traditions of Britain but transformed them into a political movement rooted in the aspirations of Indian Muslims. Great minds borrow raw material; they do not borrow finished identities. The same principle governs nations. Civilisations borrow in order to create. Declining societies borrow in order to imitate. Perhaps nowhere is this confusion more visible than in our understanding of resistance. Resistance has become one of the most romantic words in modern political vocabulary. It evokes images of heroic crowds, defiant slogans, dramatic confrontations and triumphant victories. Social media, with its appetite for spectacle, has transformed resistance into a global performance. Every protest becomes a cinematic narrative; every confrontation seeks an audience; every slogan aspires to immortality through a hashtag. But history is not written in hashtags. Nor are nations transformed by theatrical moments alone. The anthropologist Leila Abu-Lughod offered an important warning nearly three decades ago in her influential essay The Romance of Resistance. She argued that scholars often romanticise resistance as though every act of opposition were inherently emancipatory. Such a view, she suggested, ignores the complex relationships of power, culture and history within which resistance acquires meaning. Acts of dissent cannot be detached from the societies that produce them. They are rooted in particular institutions, historical memories and cultural conditions. Her insight deserves careful attention today. To ask why Pakistan does not produce resistance identical to India’s is rather like asking why the Indus refuses to flow like the Ganges. Rivers obey their own geography. Nations obey their own history. Every meaningful political movement is shaped by its unique historical circumstances. The French Revolution emerged from fiscal collapse and aristocratic privilege. The American Revolution arose from disputes over representation and imperial authority. South Africa’s democratic transition was forged in the struggle against apartheid. None of these experiences can simply be photocopied for another society. History does not distribute identical examinations to different nations. Each country answers its own questions. Yet we continue searching for borrowed answers. Perhaps this is because borrowed revolutions are emotionally satisfying. They spare us the difficult labour of self-examination. It is always easier to admire another nation’s struggle than to confront the unfinished responsibilities of our own. Admiration demands nothing. Citizenship demands everything. That distinction has become blurred in contemporary Pakistan. Our public imagination has fallen in love with the romance of beginning anew. Every few years another movement captures our attention. We invest it with almost mythical expectations. We hope it will accomplish what institutions, constitutions and patient political reform have failed to achieve. We long for redemption through spectacle. But mature nations are not built upon permanent excitement. They are built upon permanent institutions. Hannah Arendt observed in On Revolution that the enduring achievement of successful revolutions lies not in the destruction of an old order but in the establishment of a

Quite surely and certainly, Pakistan’s youth are our greatest national asset and, more importantly, the foundation of the country’s future growth. With nearly 70 percent of Pakistan’s total population below the age of 30, making the much required investment as such was not only a social responsibility but also an economic necessity. Visionary Prime Minister Muhammad Shehbaz Sharif’s focus was centred on productive employment, empowering Pakistani youth to become job creators instead of job seekers. Under his leadership and guidance, youth empowerment has been placed at the centre of the Federal Government’s development agenda. According to the relevant facts and figures in this regard available from the official sources concerned, the Federal Budget for the just commenced new financial year 2026-27 duly reflects this commitment through the largest-ever investment in Pakistan’s youth development, as Rs 40.58 billion have been directly allocated for the Prime Minister’s Youth Programme initiatives. Additionally, Rs 21 billion have also been provided for the implementation of a number of youth-focused programmes by various ministries/divisions of the Federal Government. Such a huge allocation in the new federal budget for youth development quite obviously reflects the Federal Government’s determination to provide young Pakistanis with equal opportunities in education, skills development, entrepreneurship, innovation, sports, and leadership. Federal budget allocations will hopefully further strengthen youth participation in national development. The Federal Government is in the process of building an ecosystem where young Pakistanis can create businesses, generate employment, and contribute to economic growth. This appreciable ecosystem is being built through productive employment initiatives, entrepreneurship support, skills development, and easy and comfortable access to financial resources. The youth-focused prioritized areas in the federal budget directly impacting the future of Pakistan’s young population included allocation of Rs 22.4 billion for the PM’s Youth Business & Agriculture Loan Scheme for promoting entrepreneurship and economic independence; Rs 9.9 billion for the Youth Skills Development Programme to provide market-driven technical and digital skills; Rs 3 billion for the Pakistan Education Endowment Fund for supporting talented students from disadvantaged backgrounds; another Rs 3.00 billion for IT Startups and Venture Capital support for accelerating Pakistan’s digital economy; Rs 700.00 million for Youth Development Centres; Rs 500.00 million for the Talent Hunt Youth Sports League; Rs 400.00 million for the National Volunteer Corps; Rs 300.00 million for E-Sports Arenas and Training Centres; Rs 250.00 million for National Innovation Awards; and Rs 50.00 million for the Green Youth Movement. Additionally, Rs 24.48 billion have also been allocated for expansion of the Daanish Schools Network across the country for improving access to quality education. Recognizing the fast emerging fact that the modern global economy rewards skills, innovation, and adaptability, the Federal Government has also allocated more than Rs 9.9 billion for technical, digital, and professional skills development under the PM Youth Programmes. Young Pakistanis are being trained through the Youth Skills Development Programme in fast emerging technologies including artificial intelligence (AI), blockchain, data science, and other high-demand sectors, along with traditional trades aligned with market needs. The objective is to bridge the gap between education and employment and to prepare the youth to avail and explore opportunities both within Pakistan and in foreign countries around the globe. The PM’s Youth Business & Agriculture Loan Scheme duly represents the Federal Government’s commitment to ensure entrepreneurship-led growth. Through provision of interest-free and low-markup financing, the scheme is enabling young Pakistanis to establish their own businesses, expand agricultural ventures, launch startups, and become employers. This is an ongoing initiative which has demonstrated quite significant impact, as till now Rs 365.5 billion have been disbursed to over 625,740 borrowers, which has contributed to the creation of nearly 1.96 million jobs. It is pertinent to mention here that while it is hoped that funds will be allocated for the continuation of the scheme during financial year 2026-27 in an impressive and progressive manner, thereby further strengthening entrepreneurship, small and medium enterprises (SMEs), agriculture, and innovation, quite appreciably a 25 percent quota has been reserved for women to ensure that young women also have equal access to financing and economic opportunities. The PM’s Youth Laptop Scheme is also an ongoing initiative under which six lakh laptops have so far been distributed among talented students across Pakistan. Under its Phase-IV, another one lakh laptops are being distributed. In the next phase, PM’s Chromebooks will be distributed to students nationwide, including those hailing from underserved and grassroots communities, in order to further enhance digital learning opportunities. Digital transformation is a key priority of the Federal Government’s youth development agenda. The PM’s Digital Youth Hub is Pakistan’s first national youth platform for connecting young people with opportunities across the PM’s Youth Programmes and the 4Es Framework, including education, employment, scholarships, internships, entrepreneurship, and technology. With already more than 800,000 registered users, over 16 million downloads, and over 114,000 job listings, the platform is ensuring transparent and merit-based opportunities. Sports development is another priority of the Federal Government. More than 300,000 young athletes have already so far participated in the PM’s Youth Talent Identification activities. The Federal Government is expanding sports disciplines from 12 to 23 while also establishing professional facilities. The approval of Pakistan’s first National E-Sports Policy in the very near future will further open opportunities in the rapidly growing global digital entertainment industry. Furthermore, the National Youth Employment Policy aims to create sustainable employment opportunities for Pakistan’s youth, including 32.4 million NEET (Not in Education, Employment, or Training) youth, by aligning skills development with market demands and high-growth sectors. The policy commendably focuses on youth entrepreneurship, workforce readiness, digital skills, and expanding access to decent employment opportunities, with a target of achieving 100 percent absorption of new labour-force entrants by 2030 and also increasing female labour force participation to 35 percent. Further, the National Adolescent & Youth Policy empowers Pakistan’s youth aged 10-29 years through education, skills development, employment, health, and social inclusion. The policy has been developed through consultations with 50/60 thousand youth across 40+ cities and provides a framework for youth development and nation-building.

The government’s claims of containing power-sector circular debt have not survived the test of its own year-end figures. During the fiscal year (FY) 2025–26, another Rs. 364 billion was added to the flow of circular debt. This happened despite the provision of Rs. 302 billion in subsidies and repeated assurances that operational improvements, tariff adjustments, negotiations with independent power producers and financial restructuring had brought the problem under control. According to the latest report, the gross addition of Rs. 364 billion was Rs. 319 billion, or 709 percent, higher than in the preceding year. After using Rs. 302 billion of public money to reduce the accumulated liability, the reported stock still increased by about Rs. 61 billion from its June 2025 level of Rs.1.614 trillion. These numbers expose the difference between managing the recorded stock and stopping the recurring flow. A subsidy can reduce the amount appearing in the circular-debt account on a particular date. It cannot remove the inefficiencies, payment defaults, regulatory delays and governance failures that create new liabilities every month. The Power Division had taken a very different position earlier. Responding to reports that circular debt had risen during July–November 2025, it described the increase as seasonal and maintained that such variations normally reversed during the second half of the financial year. Its official rebuttal predicted that the circular-debt position would be fully contained by June 2026, with no net addition to the overall stock. The financial year has ended with a gross flow of Rs. 364 billion and a net increase even after a large fiscal injection. The promised reversal did not take place. The language of containment concealed continued deterioration in the financial operations of the power sector. The reported composition of the increase is equally disturbing. Inefficiencies of power distribution companies caused losses of Rs. 262 billion, only Rs. 3 billion less than in the preceding year. Lower recovery of electricity bills added Rs. 64 billion. Interest charges contributed another Rs. 14 billion, while delays in tariff adjustments added Rs. 75 billion. A further Rs. 194 billion arose from non-payment by K-Electric, reportedly connected with the delay in determining its multi-year tariff. This cannot be classified as an unavoidable commercial loss. It represents a failure of regulation, contract administration and timely governmental decision-making. When tariff determinations, subsidy decisions or payment settlements are delayed, the resulting liability does not disappear. It moves through the electricity chain until it is recorded as circular debt and passed to taxpayers or consumers. The reported components and adjustments must be examined carefully when the complete official statement is released. The latest report available on ministry’s website is of April 2026. The Power Division has not placed even its one-page circular-debt reports from May to July 2026 on its website. Public discussion is consequently being conducted based on figures reported in the press. The government cannot demand acceptance of its success narrative while withholding the underlying data required testing it. The Rs. 302 billion subsidy used to contain the closing stock was nearly half of the approximately Rs. 630 billion collected in income tax from salaried persons during the same year. This comparison shows the real social cost of power-sector failure. Citizens who have no role in managing distribution companies, finalising tariffs or settling inter-company disputes are required to finance the consequences through taxation. They also pay through electricity tariffs, surcharges, fuel-price adjustments and declining service quality. Honest consumers are charged for theft, poor recoveries, technical losses and delayed official decisions. As tariffs rise, more households and businesses with adequate resources shift to rooftop solar systems. The grid is left with a shrinking base of paying consumers and a large stock of fixed capacity costs. Tariffs must then be raised further to recover those costs from fewer units sold. The policy response itself deepens the financial problem. For more than a decade, governments and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) have relied heavily on tariff increases, periodic adjustments, withdrawal of subsidies and additional surcharges. These measures may narrow the accounting gap temporarily, but they do not establish commercial discipline within distribution companies or personal accountability for persistent losses. The IMF reportedly allowed up to Rs. 400 billion to be added to the circular-debt flow during FY 2025–26, while requiring the government to neutralise the addition through budgetary subsidies. This approach turns circular debt into an exercise in fiscal presentation. A liability generated inside the electricity system is paid from the federal budget and then described as contained. The loss has not been eliminated. Its location has changed. The same problem arises with the Rs. 1.225 trillion circular-debt settlement plan. Refinancing expensive liabilities at more favourable rates can reduce financing costs and provide immediate liquidity. It does not constitute retirement of debt in any economic sense when the replacement financing has to be repaid over six years through charges imposed on electricity consumers. Pakistan will be servicing yesterday’s circular debt while the unreformed system continues creating fresh liabilities. Financial engineering is being presented as reform because it postpones recognition of the full fiscal burden. Liquidity becomes a substitute for correcting the institutions responsible for the crisis. The proposed privatisation of the distribution companies also requires closer scrutiny. The government has started with Faisalabad, Gujranwala and Islamabad electricity supply companies, which are among the relatively better-performing entities. Selling profitable or manageable companies while retaining those responsible for the largest losses will not remove the structural deficit. It may deprive the public sector of its stronger revenue-generating assets while leaving taxpayers responsible for the weakest companies. Privatisation can improve performance where there is transparent valuation, effective regulation and genuine transfer of commercial risk. It cannot succeed if private investors acquire the sound operations while the state remains responsible for accumulated liabilities, political interference, theft-prone areas and unrecoverable receivables. That would amount to privatisation of gains and socialisation of losses. A credible reform programme must begin with full disclosure. Monthly circular-debt reports should identify, company by company, transmission and distribution losses, recovery ratios, unpaid

As a journalist, my entire professional life has been dedicated to defending freedom of expression, civil liberties, and an independent press. Throughout more than two decades in journalism, I have firmly believed that the right to express one’s views is a fundamental human right, protected not only by Pakistan’s Constitution but also by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the laws of most democratic nations. However, no right in any civilized society is absolute. Every freedom comes with responsibility. When freedom is divorced from responsibility, it ceases to be a force for reform and instead becomes a source of disorder. That is why every mature democracy has established legal and ethical boundaries to ensure that freedom of expression serves the public interest rather than undermining it. The rise of social media has revolutionized the flow of information. Today, an ordinary citizen possesses communication power that was once reserved for major media organizations. A smartphone, a short video, and a single click can spread information, allegations, or opinions across the globe within minutes. Used responsibly, this technology promotes transparency, accountability, and public awareness. Used recklessly, without verification or evidence, it can inflict irreparable damage on individuals, institutions, and society. The recent controversy involving the University of the Punjab illustrates this challenge. A video circulated on social media in which serious allegations were made against several faculty members. Shortly after the video surfaced, the university administration issued an official statement rejecting the allegations and referred the matter to the police, the Cyber Crime Investigation Agency, and other relevant authorities for investigation. The episode also exposed another troubling aspect of today’s digital environment. Several freelance vloggers and social media accounts amplified the allegations, yet many failed to present the university’s official response with equal prominence. One of the fundamental principles of journalism is to provide all concerned parties with an opportunity to present their position before public opinion is shaped. Based on the information currently available and my own research, the viral video did not publicly present independently verifiable evidence supporting the allegations. Nor has it been established that a formal written complaint was submitted through the university’s prescribed grievance mechanism before the video was released. If the ongoing investigation establishes otherwise, those findings must be accepted with the same commitment to fairness and truth. Equally important is ensuring that the investigation is not limited solely to the allegations themselves. If it is established that any individual or group deliberately misled students, orchestrated a coordinated campaign, or exploited social media to damage the reputation of an institution or its members, those responsible should also be held accountable under the law. Conversely, if the allegations are substantiated, the complainants deserve full justice without discrimination. Accountability must apply equally to everyone. This case extends far beyond a single university. It reflects the growing problem of irresponsible social media usage. Increasingly, individuals bypass legal forums, institutional complaint mechanisms, and investigative authorities, choosing instead to take their grievances directly to social media. Within minutes, a viral post can shape public opinion, damage reputations, and, in many cases, allow the “court of social media” to pronounce its verdict long before any formal investigation has concluded. Such a trend blurs the line between freedom of expression and irresponsible expression. Recognizing these risks, many developed countries have introduced stricter regulations governing digital platforms. The European Union’s Digital Services Act (DSA) and Digital Markets Act (DMA) require major technology companies to act swiftly against illegal content, terrorist propaganda, child sexual abuse material, counterfeit products, and other harmful content. These laws also require greater transparency in algorithms, stronger user protections, and comprehensive risk assessments, with violations carrying multi-billion-euro penalties. The United States follows a different constitutional model. While the First Amendment provides broad protection for freedom of speech, this does not mean that every form of online content is beyond regulation. Social media companies continue to enforce community standards against hate speech, incitement to violence, terrorism-related content, child exploitation, financial fraud, and other unlawful activities. Several U.S. states are also developing legislation addressing AI-generated deepfakes, child online safety, and digital privacy. In Pakistan, the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) provides the principal legal framework for addressing cybercrime. However, concerns have repeatedly been raised by political parties, journalists, and human rights organizations regarding aspects of its implementation. This underlines the importance not only of effective legislation but also of its transparent, impartial, and constitutional enforcement. The rapid rise of artificial intelligence, deepfake technology, disinformation, and organized online propaganda has made responsible journalism and responsible social media use more important than ever. Freedom of expression remains the cornerstone of every democratic society, but using that freedom to damage individuals or institutions without credible evidence serves neither journalism nor democracy. Pakistan, like many other countries, faces the challenge of preserving free expression while preventing the misuse of digital platforms. The objective should never be to silence legitimate criticism or suppress dissent. Instead, it should be to ensure that freedom is exercised with honesty, evidence, and accountability.   Freedom of expression is the soul of democracy. Yet when it is separated from truth, integrity, and responsibility, it no longer remains freedom—it becomes disorder. A civilized society is one where the law protects those who speak the truth while holding accountable those who knowingly spread falsehoods. That balance represents the true spirit of free expression and remains the hallmark of every democratic, civilized, and dignified nation.