PM Shehbaz Sharif and Field Marshal Syed Asim Muni…

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

As Pakistan prepares to celebrate another Independence Day, standard national rituals will once again take center stage. Flag-hoisting ceremonies, parades, and patriotic broadcasts will dominate the public square. Yet, nearly eight decades after gaining political freedom, a quiet but deeply uncomfortable question persists: can a nation truly consider itself sovereign if its collective mind remains dependent on the ideas, technologies, and scientific outputs of others? ​True independence has never been merely a matter of drawing borders, raising flags, or maintaining standing armies. History teaches a relentless lesson: physical sovereignty is only a shell. It requires intellectual and scientific self-reliance to give it genuine substance and endurance. Without a thriving culture of critical inquiry, rigorous research, and technological innovation, political freedom gradually degrades into a ceremonial phrase. ​Today, Pakistan faces a severe, structural crisis within its higher education system—one that poses a direct threat to its national sovereignty and economic survival. Not a single Pakistani university currently features among the top 200 or 300 institutions in major global academic rankings, such as QS or Times Higher Education. This is far more than an embarrassing statistic for university administrators. It is an alarm bell signaling deep vulnerabilities in national security, economic resilience, and the country’s collective capacity to navigate a complex world. ​We live in an era where global power and national influence are defined by knowledge economies, artificial intelligence, quantum computing, and rapid technological innovation. Meanwhile, Pakistan’s universities are collapsing under the combined weight of severe budget cuts, outdated curricula, heavy-handed bureaucratic interference, and deeply flawed research incentives. Unless our academic institutions move away from acting as simple credential-issuing factories and transform into centers of genuine learning and problem-solving, Pakistan’s economic and political sovereignty will remain precarious. A country that relies permanently on foreign intellect, imported technology, and international financial institutions to address its core domestic problems cannot claim to be truly self-reliant. ​This decline is not a matter of subjective opinion; it is confirmed by hard empirical evidence. Over 250 public and private universities operate across Pakistan, yet the state allocates a meager 0.24 to 0.28 percent of its Gross Domestic Product (GDP) to higher education. This represents a small fraction of the 2 percent minimum recommended by UNESCO for developing nations attempting to build sustainable economies. Regional peers made strategic investments in research and technology decades ago, turning their universities into powerful engines of industrial growth. In contrast, persistent funding cuts in Pakistan have left public-sector universities financially paralyzed, with many administrators openly struggling to pay staff pensions or procure basic laboratory chemicals and equipment. ​Even more damaging than the financial deficit is the systemic decay in research quality. While university faculty publish thousands of papers every year to meet promotion targets under the Tenure Track System, the vast majority of these publications carry little to no global impact or citation value. A desperate chase for publication numbers, driven by artificial metrics and a reliance on low-tier journals, has fostered a superficial academic culture disconnected from real-world application. Our university research rarely addresses the pressing structural challenges facing the nation, whether in climate adaptation, agricultural productivity, public health, water management, or industrial manufacturing. ​The most tragic consequence of this intellectual and institutional stagnation is the unprecedented wave of brain drain draining the nation’s potential. According to official emigration statistics, over two million educated and skilled young Pakistanis—including doctors, software engineers, data scientists, chemists, and academics—have left the country in recent years. They are not emigrating simply in pursuit of higher salaries; they are fleeing a system characterized by political nepotism, lack of merit, poor infrastructure, and a hostile environment for creative thought. When a state fails to retain its best minds, it surrenders its future. Universities continue to churn out hundreds of thousands of graduates annually, but a vast proportion remain unemployable because their education has failed to equip them with critical thinking skills or modern technological competencies. Without a functional, collaborative link between universities, local industry, and government policymakers—the classic Triple Helix model—talks of economic self-reliance remain empty political rhetoric. ​Reclaiming intellectual sovereignty requires a candid national assessment and decisive, structural policy changes. First, state funding for higher education must be incrementally raised to at least 1.5 percent of GDP over a defined roadmap. Crucially, at least half of these new funds should be explicitly ring-fenced away from brick-and-mortar civil construction and directed toward modernizing scientific laboratories, subscribing to international scientific databases, and establishing dedicated national centers for artificial intelligence, biotechnology, renewable energy, and cybersecurity. ​Second, university governance requires immediate, radical overhaul. The Higher Education Commission and individual university senates must be insulated from bureaucratic red tape and political appointments. Vice-Chancellors and senior academic leaders should be selected through transparent, merit-based international searches, prioritizing proven scientific achievement and visionary management over political connections or administrative seniority. ​Third, the criteria for evaluating faculty performance must be completely overhauled. The current practice of rewarding sheer publication volume should be replaced with a system that prioritizes research quality, international citations, industrial patents, technology transfers, and solutions that solve tangible domestic problems. ​Finally, Pakistan must systematically engage its vast academic diaspora. Rather than lamenting brain drain, the state should build a structured “Brain Gain” program. By offering competitive joint research grants, flexible digital teaching platforms, and adjunct faculty positions, Pakistan can enable its top scholars abroad to transfer cutting-edge global science back into domestic universities without requiring them to relocate permanently. ​Patriotism in the twenty-first century cannot be measured by emotional slogans, ceremonial rallies, or flag-hoisting displays. It requires building objective competence in science, technology, and critical thought. If our universities fail to become spaces of innovation, inquiry, and problem-solving, Pakistan will remain perpetually dependent on foreign aid, external loans, and imported knowledge. Modern national defense is built not only along physical borders, but within classrooms, research laboratories, and libraries. Reforming higher education is not a luxury or a secondary policy goal; it is the single most logical path toward securing a dignified, sovereign, and prosperous future for the nation.

Pakistan was achieved on the fourteenth of August in the year nineteen hundred and forty-seven, after sacrifices of a magnitude that still stir the soul and a struggle whose tirelessness remains an enduring lesson. Millions crossed borders in those turbulent months, leaving behind ancestral homes, familial graves, and the familiar soil of generations, so that a new homeland might rise where Muslims could live according to their faith and their free will. We stand now upon the threshold of the eighth decade of that hard-won independence. I, a Pakistani by birth and by conviction, have myself lived nearly fifty-eight years within the borders of this free land. This country conferred upon me an identity that no foreign power could erase, furnished me with the means of an independent existence—schools in which to learn, roads upon which to travel, markets in which to earn my bread—bestowed a measure of respect in the eyes of the world, and, in some degree, granted me a name among my fellows. Yet the question returns, quietly and persistently, like a debt long deferred; what have I given in return? Have I ever paused long enough, in the press of daily concerns, to weigh that debt with honesty? The same inquiry must be put, with equal seriousness and without partiality, to the institutions that were meant to serve as the pillars of the state, and to the rulers and authorities who have held power through these eighty years. What account can they render of their stewardship? Parliament was intended as the voice of the people; the courts as the guardians of justice; the civil service as the steady hand of administration; the universities as the nurseries of thought and character. Have these bodies discharged their duties with fidelity, or have they at times become arenas of personal ambition, partisan calculation, and the slow corrosion of public trust? The rulers who succeeded one another, whether civilian or military, received the same inheritance of soil, of people, and of hope. What have they added to the national store of justice, of prosperity, of self-respect, and of unity? The record is mixed, and the gaps are painful to contemplate. Have we, as a people, ever undertaken a true reckoning of our collective performance—not the ritual of speeches on national days, but a sober examination of conscience? And if such an accounting was made, did it lead to any genuine reformation of our ways, or did we merely resume the old habits once the anniversary had passed? Where, in truth, does Pakistan stand as a state at this present hour? We possess a land rich in rivers and fertile plains, a people endowed with resilience and talent, a strategic position that nature itself seems to have marked for consequence. Yet we continue to wrestle with the burdens of poverty that still touch too many homes, with the lingering shadows of disorder in parts of the country, with the uneasy balance between institutions that ought to complement one another, and with the persistent temptation to place private gain above the common good. Have we preserved, or have we frittered away, the sacred trust that our ancestors placed in our hands when they bequeathed us this country? That trust was not lightly given. It demanded vigilance against tyranny, honesty in public dealing, a willingness to educate the young in both knowledge and character, and a readiness to place the welfare of the whole above the advantage of the few. Looking back across the decades, one is compelled to ask whether that demand has been met in full measure. I do not exempt myself from this examination. For nearly six decades I have drawn from the well of national life—the protection of law, the opportunity to work and to speak, the simple privilege of calling myself a citizen of a free land. Have my contributions matched the gifts received? Have I laboured, in whatever sphere was allotted me, to strengthen rather than weaken the fabric of the republic? Have I spoken truth when silence was easier, practised fairness when partiality promised profit, and taught the rising generation that freedom is not a birthright to be consumed but a responsibility to be renewed? Honesty requires that each of us answer such questions in the solitude of his own heart, without the convenient shield of collective excuses or the comfortable habit of blaming those who came before. Enough, then, of evasion. The hour has come for every citizen, high or low, including the writer of these lines, to conduct a personal audit. Let each examine what he has taken and what he has returned. Let the institutions examine their fidelity to the purposes for which they were created. Let those who hold authority examine whether their decisions have served the enduring interests of the state or the fleeting interests of the moment. Only through such unsparing self-examination, followed by the hard work of reform, can the trust of the founders be renewed and the promise of Pakistan still be fulfilled for those who will inherit what we leave behind.

The recently published PRIME Plus report, An Assessment of the FY2026–27 Federal Budget Through the Lens of Economic Freedom, deserves appreciation for shifting the debate beyond conventional budget arithmetic. Rather than asking merely whether taxes have increased or decreased, it examines whether the budget enlarges or restricts the freedom of individuals and businesses to produce, invest, trade and innovate. That alone makes it a valuable contribution to Pakistan’s policy discourse. The report of Policy Research Institute of Market Economy (PRIME) correctly observes that Pakistan’s formal economy bears a disproportionate tax burden while much of the informal sector remains outside the effective tax net. It questions tax expenditures exceeding Rs 2.35 trillion, highlights the crowding out of private investment by government borrowing, welcomes tariff rationalisation and criticises regulatory uncertainty. These issues deserve much wider public attention. PRIME’s analysis also points towards a deeper weakness in Pakistan’s reform discourse: we discuss economic freedom without first securing constitutional governance. The distinction is fundamental. International indices commonly measure economic freedom through taxation, trade openness, government spending, financial markets and regulatory efficiency. These indicators matter. Lower barriers to enterprise can promote investment, innovation and competition. They answer only part of the question. Why do countries with similar tax rates produce very different economic outcomes? Why do investors accept higher taxation in some jurisdictions while avoiding countries with lighter tax burdens? Why do some economies flourish with relatively large governments while others stagnate despite repeated concessions? The answer lies primarily in institutions. James Buchanan argued that public finance cannot be analysed independently of the constitutional rules under which governments operate. Douglass North demonstrated that long-term development depends upon institutions that reduce uncertainty, enforce contracts and create predictable incentives. Centuries earlier, Ibn Khaldun linked prosperity with justice, moderation in taxation and restraint upon arbitrary power. Excessive intervention, unpredictable fiscal demands and rent-seeking, he observed, ultimately weaken both economic activity and state revenues. These intellectual traditions converge on one central proposition: economic freedom is not created simply by lowering tax rates. It emerges from constitutional governance. Pakistan’s experience illustrates this clearly. Successive governments have offered tax holidays, created special economic zones, reduced customs duties and announced investment facilitation mechanisms. Investment nevertheless remains subdued. Investors do not merely compare tax rates; they compare legal systems. They ask whether contracts will be enforced within a reasonable time, whether regulations will survive political transitions, whether tax liabilities can be altered retrospectively and whether executive discretion outweighs parliamentary certainty. These are questions of constitutional governance rather than fiscal engineering. The same principle applies to taxation. Pakistan’s problem is frequently described as one of high taxation. That diagnosis is incomplete. The deeper problem is unequal taxation. The salaried class in formal sector is fully documented, its tax is deducted before income reaches employees, and its compliance burden continues to rise. Large segments of commerce, services and agriculture operate under very different fiscal realities. The issue is not merely how much tax is collected, but whether equal citizens are governed by equal fiscal rules. A system built around withholding taxes, presumptive taxes, minimum taxes and sector-specific exemptions creates unequal citizenship before the law. It also encourages informality. Businesses do not remain undocumented only because rates are high. Formal participation imposes greater compliance costs while offering few institutional benefits. Documentation without trust becomes compulsion rather than reform. The PRIME report also notes that government borrowing crowds out private investment because banks prefer sovereign lending over commercial risk. This is not simply a banking failure. When governments repeatedly finance deficits through domestic borrowing, banks act rationally by purchasing government securities. Financial markets are responding to distorted fiscal incentives created by public policy. Interest payments and defence together consume nearly 94 percent of net federal revenue, leaving little fiscal space for education, healthcare, scientific research, digital infrastructure, justice administration and productive public investment. The challenge is not merely that government spends too much; it is that public priorities have become distorted. Expenditure that strengthens courts, education, digital infrastructure, research, public health and efficient regulation expands future economic freedom because it reduces uncertainty and lowers transaction costs. Spending absorbed by debt servicing and institutional inefficiency does not. Constitutional Political Economy therefore distinguishes between the size of government and the quality of government. Fiscal federalism is another neglected dimension. The Constitution (Eighteenth Amendment) Act, 2010 reshaped the distribution of fiscal powers. Provincial sales taxes, fragmented administrations and overlapping jurisdictions now influence business decisions daily. Economic freedom cannot be assessed through the federal budget alone. The constitutional structure governing taxation matters as much as the annual Finance Act itself. Pakistan’s economic challenge is consequently larger than budget reform. Markets flourish where laws are predictable, taxation is neutral, contracts are enforceable, property rights are secure and governments remain subject to constitutional restraints. These conditions cannot be created through a single Finance Act. They require a durable commitment to constitutional governance. The value of the PRIME report lies in encouraging this broader conversation. The next step is to recognise that economic freedom rests upon a stronger constitutional foundation. Where constitutional governance is weak, economic reforms remain temporary. Where it is strong, markets can generate prosperity without constant discretionary intervention. Pakistan’s recurring fiscal crises are symptoms rather than the disease. The underlying ailment is institutional. Budgets can redistribute resources, but only constitutional governance can establish equality before law, predictable taxation, secure property rights and meaningful limits on arbitrary state power. Economic freedom, therefore, is neither the starting point of development nor a concession to be distributed through annual Finance Acts. It is the outcome of a constitutional order in which taxation rests on representation, public borrowing is subject to accountability, contracts and property are protected, and executive power remains bounded by law. In a rent-distributing state, freedom is rationed through exemptions, influence and discretion; in a constitutional state, it is secured for all through equal rules. Unless Pakistan reforms the institutions that determine who is taxed, how public money is spent, who bears the cost of debt and how state power is

The debate over the creation of new administrative units and provinces in Pakistan has once again occupied the national discourse after Federal Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi declared that the country’s existing governance system had “collapsed” and argued that governance must be brought closer to the people through new administrative units. His remarks have revived an issue that has periodically surfaced since independence but has rarely moved beyond political rhetoric. While some interpreted his statement as a call for creating additional provinces, others argued that he was advocating broader administrative restructuring. Regardless of terminology, the debate has exposed the structural weaknesses of Pakistan’s governance architecture and compelled policymakers, constitutional experts and political parties to revisit an important question: can Pakistan continue to be governed effectively under its existing administrative framework, or has demographic growth, urban expansion and governance complexity made institutional restructuring unavoidable?  Pakistan today is home to more than 250 million people, yet it continues to function primarily through four provinces established under historical rather than administrative considerations. At independence in 1947, the population and governance challenges were dramatically different. Since then, urbanisation, economic diversification, internal migration and increasing demands for public services have transformed governance requirements. Provincial capitals often remain geographically and administratively distant from citizens living in peripheral districts. Residents of South Punjab, Hazara, southern Balochistan, merged districts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and interior Sindh frequently complain that decision-making remains concentrated in provincial capitals, resulting in unequal development, delayed service delivery and inadequate representation. Mohsin Naqvi’s argument rests on the proposition that governance has become excessively centralised and that citizens are compelled to travel long distances merely to access basic government services, courts and administrative offices. He further argued that countries with expanding populations have responded by creating additional administrative units rather than maintaining outdated structures. Whether one agrees with his assessment or not, his central observation deserves serious consideration because governance effectiveness is measured not by the size of government but by the accessibility, responsiveness and accountability of institutions.  The debate itself is not new. Successive governments have proposed South Punjab Province, Bahawalpur Province, Hazara Province and even administrative restructuring in Karachi and Balochistan. Parliamentary resolutions regarding South Punjab have previously been adopted, yet constitutional consensus has remained elusive. Political parties have often supported new provinces while in opposition but have shown considerably less enthusiasm after assuming power. Consequently, proposals have become election slogans rather than governance reforms.  Critics of creating new provinces argue that administrative fragmentation alone cannot solve governance failures. They point out that Pakistan’s primary problem is not necessarily the number of provinces but weak institutions, bureaucratic inefficiency, political interference, corruption and inconsistent implementation of laws. According to this perspective, multiplying provinces without institutional reform merely replicates existing inefficiencies across additional administrative boundaries. New provincial governments would require assemblies, governors, chief ministers, secretariats, police structures, judicial infrastructure and enormous recurring financial expenditures. Unless accompanied by governance reforms, decentralisation may simply increase administrative costs without improving public service delivery. Supporters, however, contend that administrative proximity improves governance outcomes. Comparative international experience demonstrates that countries such as India have periodically reorganised states to improve administrative efficiency and political representation. Smaller administrative jurisdictions often enable faster decision-making, improved monitoring, stronger accountability and more equitable distribution of development resources. Citizens generally experience better governance when government institutions are physically and administratively closer to them. These arguments have gained renewed attention following Naqvi’s intervention.  However, the current debate suffers from one significant omission. It largely ignores Pakistan’s weakest democratic institution: local government. Before creating additional provinces, policymakers must honestly evaluate why local governments have repeatedly failed. Pakistan has experimented with local government systems under different constitutional and political arrangements, yet these institutions have rarely been allowed to function independently and consistently. Elected local governments are frequently dissolved, elections are delayed and financial autonomy remains severely restricted. Provincial governments often resist devolving meaningful authority because local governments are perceived as political competitors rather than governance partners. This brings the issue of local body elections to the centre of the discussion. The Constitution envisions democratic decentralisation, yet local government elections have remained irregular across several provinces. In many cases, elected councils complete only partial terms or remain financially dependent upon provincial governments. Consequently, citizens seeking municipal services, sanitation, water supply, local roads, building regulation or community development frequently confront administrative paralysis. A country that struggles to sustain functioning local governments cannot realistically expect that merely creating additional provinces will automatically improve governance. The experience of Pakistan’s devolution reforms provides valuable lessons. The Local Government reforms introduced in the early 2000s attempted to decentralise authority by empowering districts and local councils. Although those reforms had weaknesses and generated political controversy, they demonstrated that bringing government closer to citizens can improve responsiveness when accompanied by fiscal authority, administrative autonomy and institutional accountability. Unfortunately, subsequent governments reversed or weakened many of these arrangements, resulting in repeated cycles of centralisation and decentralisation. Political reactions to Mohsin Naqvi’s proposal reflect Pakistan’s broader constitutional divisions. Some leaders have welcomed discussion on governance reform while supporting greater administrative decentralisation. Others have questioned both the timing and constitutional implications of the proposal, expressing concerns that restructuring provinces without broad political consensus could intensify ethnic, linguistic and regional sensitivities. There are also concerns that debates over provincial boundaries could distract attention from more immediate governance priorities, including economic recovery, inflation, institutional reforms and electoral credibility. The political diversity of these reactions demonstrates that constitutional restructuring cannot succeed through executive statements alone; it requires sustained parliamentary dialogue, provincial participation and national consensus.  The constitutional dimension cannot be overlooked. Creating new provinces requires constitutional amendments and political agreement among federal and provincial stakeholders. Such reforms inevitably involve questions relating to resource distribution, National Finance Commission allocations, Senate representation, civil service restructuring, judicial jurisdictions and provincial assets. Therefore, any attempt to redraw administrative boundaries without extensive consultation risks generating political instability rather than administrative efficiency. The opportunities nevertheless remain significant. Properly designed administrative restructuring could reduce regional disparities, improve public service delivery, enhance

The preceding part of this series ended with a limit that productive finance cannot cross. Illness, unemployment, education, disability, orphanhood and temporary distress cannot always be converted into profitable investments. Human vulnerability itself cannot become another financial product. That is where a riba-free order must move beyond banking. A society may successfully redesign murabaha, musharakah, salam or ijarah and still remain unjust if a family facing cancer treatment must borrow at any cost, a student must enter adult life under debt, or a widow depends upon a local patron for survival. Prohibition of riba becomes socially meaningful only when basic human need is protected from financial extraction. Pakistan does not have to invent the institutional vocabulary from zero. It already has Pakistan Bait-ul-Mal, established under the Pakistan Bait-ul-Mal Act, 1991. Its official mandate includes assistance to the destitute, widows, orphans, persons with disabilities and other needy citizens, with support extending to medical treatment, education and rehabilitation. Its official position is that assistance is available to the poorest without differentiation of religion, creed, sect or region. This is an important foundation. It is not yet the structure required for a just financial order. Bait-ul-Mal should cease to be understood primarily as an agency dispensing discretionary relief to the “poorest of the poor”. Its larger purpose should be to guarantee a legally defined social floor. Food in destitution, essential healthcare, basic education, protection of children without support, disability assistance and temporary subsistence during involuntary unemployment should become matters of entitlement under transparent criteria, not favours obtained through political access. This distinction is fundamental. Charity depends upon the generosity of the giver. Entitlement rests upon the responsibility of society. It is one of the most emphasised Quranic directive on this idea. The directions given in the holy Quran need not be accepted in totality. This principle is accepted in all the classical juristic traditions. The practical discussion on this is important. In the transitional phase, all the scholarly works envisage gradual movement rather than an overnight abolition of existing economic arrangements. Individuals progressively devote more of their resources to collective purposes while organised society assumes responsibility for the basic necessities of life.   The transition, in any pragmatic scheme, is institutional rather than merely charitable. That insight deserves attention. An Islamic polity cannot measure success by the number of ration bags distributed after deprivation has occurred. Its test is whether institutions progressively remove the conditions that force citizens into dependence upon creditors, property owners, political patrons or charitable intermediaries. Bait-ul-Mal should therefore form the first pillar of social finance: the guarantee against destitution. The second should be waqf. Waqf historically converted wealth into enduring social capital. Whatever the juristic differences concerning its precise legal character, its institutional genius lies in removing an asset from ordinary private consumption and dedicating its benefit to a continuing purpose. Land, buildings and income-producing properties can support hospitals, schools, hostels, water systems, vocational institutions, research centres, shelters and community infrastructure across generations. Pakistan already possesses statutory waqf institutions. Punjab’s Auqaf Department, for example, operates under the Punjab Waqf Properties Ordinance, 1979, for the administration and regulation of waqf properties. Income arising from properties under its control is credited to the Auqaf Fund under the statutory framework. The potential is much larger than administration of shrines and mosques. Pakistan should develop professionally governed public waqf institutions—waqf lillah—at national, provincial and local levels. Public land lawfully dedicated for community benefit, voluntarily endowed private property and other permissible assets could constitute permanent pools of social capital. Their corpus should remain protected while their income finances clearly defined public purposes. This cannot become another avenue for bureaucratic or political capture. Every waqf property should be digitally registered. Its title, purpose, valuation, income, expenditure and beneficiaries should be publicly accessible. Independent audit, professional management and strict conflict-of-interest rules are indispensable. No minister, shrine manager, political family or local notable should be able to convert property dedicated for public benefit into an instrument of patronage. The third pillar is zakat. It should remain distinct from both the ordinary budget and waqf. Its compulsory redistributive character and specified purposes give it an institutional identity of its own. Combining every form of social finance into one government account would destroy these distinctions. The fourth pillar is qard hasan. Not every person requiring temporary liquidity is destitute. A worker may face a medical emergency. A small farmer may need funds after a flood. A graduate may require equipment to begin earning. A household may need a short bridge between unemployment and a new job. Such circumstances do not necessarily call for a grant. They require finance without extraction. Revolving qard hasan funds administered through Bait-ul-Mal, public waqf institutions and local cooperatives could provide precisely that bridge. Principal would return when the recipient regains capacity, allowing the same pool to assist another household. The institution earns no commercial return from distress; society recycles solidarity. This connects directly with the cooperative model discussed in Part IV. The ultimate objective cannot be to create permanent classes of beneficiaries. Social protection should lead towards economic agency. A citizen receiving emergency assistance today should, wherever possible, become tomorrow’s producer, saver and member of a cooperative financial institution. Bait-ul-Mal prevents collapse. Waqf creates enduring social assets. Qard hasan provides a bridge back to economic activity. Cooperatives enable citizens to pool savings, own institutions and finance one another. These mechanisms should operate together rather than as isolated schemes. The structure can be visualised as a ladder. At its base is an enforceable social floor below which no citizen is allowed to fall. Above it are education, healthcare and skills supported partly through public waqf. Temporary setbacks are met through qard hasan. Productive citizens then move towards cooperative and commercial risk-sharing finance of the kind discussed in Part IV. The direction is from dependency to capability, not from one form of dependency to another. Governance will determine whether this succeeds. Pakistan has repeatedly created institutions in the name of disadvantaged citizens and then allowed