Poetry, Power & Humanity—IV Bulleh Shah: Be…

Azad Jammu and Kashmir has recorded at least 40 deaths since early June in clashes tied to the Joint Awami Action Committee’s campaign against the region’s twelve refugee assembly seats, a toll that predates the events of July 27-28, when JAAC and AJK police gave conflicting counts of 14 to 21 more killed in Rawalakot. The combined total since June likely sits in the high 40s to high 50s, though no independent body has confirmed a single figure; every clash in this sequence has produced a JAAC count and a police count that don’t match, and neither has been verified from outside. The July violence fell during the first phase of a legislative election that AJK’s election commission split into three stages because of the unrest, a break from the territory’s usual practice of voting in a single day. Mirpur division cast ballots on July 27. Rawalakot, in Poonch division, was deliberately held back for the third phase because it has been the epicenter of the agitation. The clashes there on July 27-28 came as JAAC’s long march tried to push through the city toward Muzaffarabad, not on a day its own constituents were voting. That the state felt it necessary to stagger an election by geography to manage a protest movement is itself a measure of how far the crisis had already gone. Law enforcement personnel have been repeatedly targeted through the unrest. Police say an armed JAAC contingent opened fire on officers near Combined Military Hospital Rawalakot in a planned attack, which the region’s police chief called outright terrorism. JAAC disputes this, as it has disputed nearly every account of nearly every clash, saying its own people came under fire after power was cut to the area. Neither version has been independently verified, and the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan has called for an impartial probe into the Rawalakot deaths for that reason. What is not contested is that a movement now banned under anti-terrorism law has been in near-continuous confrontation with police for eight weeks, and that officers have died in it. The dispute traces back to a structural question the state has already answered through the proper channel. Six of the twelve seats go to refugees from the Jammu division, numbering around 434,000; six more go to refugees from the Kashmir Valley, numbering around 30,000. JAAC calls this disproportionate and argues the seats let people who do not live in AJK shape its politics from outside. The AJK Supreme Court ruled on June 7 that the seats are constitutionally protected and can only be altered through a formal amendment, not by administrative order or by protest. The government’s proscription of JAAC under anti-terrorism law came two days earlier, on June 5, ahead of a planned June 9 protest; the worst of the killing followed the ban rather than preceding it. Both sides of that sequence can be argued. What can’t be argued is that the state waited for a body count before invoking the law , it acted first, and the deaths followed. On the demands themselves, the government reports 24 of JAAC’s 44 total demands fully implemented and 16 more partially complete or in process, with 4 at an impasse. That record is substantial, larger than most governments manage against a protest charter. But it does not settle the argument on its own, because none of the 24 completed demands is the refugee-seat question. That one sits among the 16 still unresolved, and it is the demand driving the current violence. A compliance rate built mostly from other line items ; subsidies, cabinet size, judicial commissions, demonstrates the state’s good faith in general. It does not demonstrate its handling of the one issue JAAC is dying and killing over, and that distinction should not be blurred. Even so, the seat question has been settled by the only body with authority to settle it. Abolishing the seats to appease pressure tactics would be unconstitutional on its face, and it would tell any future movement in Pakistan that enough disruption can override a court and a negotiated settlement alike. A state that has followed its own constitutional process, implemented most of an agreed reform charter, and still faces an intensifying campaign of blockades and attacks on security personnel has grounds to hold its position; grounds that rest on the process it followed, not on an implementation statistic that doesn’t reach the actual grievance. The state’s strongest move now is to negotiate from the position it has already earned, not concede from a position of weakness. Reweighting the seats toward Jammu’s larger population, pursued through the amendment process the Supreme Court has itself outlined, would resolve the proportionality complaint on the state’s own terms and timeline, not JAAC’s. Offered now, immediately after a disputed mass-casualty event, it would read as capitulation. Offered once the group’s remaining leadership either accepts the court’s authority or is dealt with through the law, it becomes a demonstration of a functioning constitutional order rather than a retreat from one. The state does not owe JAAC a seat at the table it has spent eight weeks helping to blow up. It owes AJK’s residents a government that can enforce the law, account honestly for its own role in how this got this bloody, and eventually fix what is fair within the constitution , in that order.

The world’s largest democracy appears to be at a defining moment in its history, where fundamental questions are once again being raised about the future of the state, politics, constitutionalism, the judiciary, the media, and the country’s broader social order. Consecutive electoral victories by Prime Minister Narendra Modi and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have elevated the ideology commonly known as Hindutva, often associated with Hindu majoritarian politics, to the centre of India’s political discourse. Its proponents describe it as an effort to reclaim India’s ancient civilizational identity and cultural heritage. Critics, however, argue that the notion of a single, unified ancient Indian civilization oversimplifies the subcontinent’s historical evolution. For centuries, the Indian subcontinent has been shaped by a mosaic of religions, kingdoms, languages, ethnic communities, commercial networks, and cultural exchanges. Rather than reflecting a single, monolithic civilization, its history reveals a continuously evolving and pluralistic civilizational stream. In today’s interconnected digital age, many historians and political commentators argue that reconstructing such a singular historical identity is neither historically accurate nor socially attainable. They contend that the project has placed India’s constitutional secularism, communal harmony, and federal balance under unprecedented strain. Since assuming office in 2014, the Modi government has introduced a series of policies that have generated intense political debate both within India and internationally. The abrogation of Article 370, which revoked the special constitutional status of Jammu and Kashmir, the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), discussions surrounding a Uniform Civil Code, legislation targeting religious conversions, incidents of mob violence associated with cow protection, and the use of “bulldozer politics” in several states have all contributed to deep political polarization. According to many political observers, Hindutva has evolved beyond an ideological movement into a powerful influence over electoral politics, state institutions, public discourse, and sections of the media. Critics argue that Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, Dalits, and, at times, even Hindus expressing dissent have experienced growing political and social pressures. The government and its supporters reject these allegations, maintaining that the rule of law applies equally to all citizens and that such criticisms are politically motivated. Debate has also intensified over the independence of India’s judiciary, Police, investigative agencies, and media institutions. Former judges, retired civil servants, journalists, and civil society representatives have, on various occasions, expressed concerns regarding institutional autonomy. The government, however, insists that India’s constitutional institutions continue to function independently and effectively. The role of the media has emerged as another defining feature of this political transformation. Critics contend that sections of mainstream television increasingly amplify the government’s narrative while providing limited space for dissenting voices. Independent journalists and digital media platforms have similarly argued that the space for critical journalism has narrowed. Government representatives, on the other hand, maintain that India’s media landscape remains diverse, vibrant, and free. Electoral politics constitutes another important dimension of this debate. The BJP’s sustained electoral success is widely attributed to its highly organized party structure, the extensive grassroots network of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), sophisticated campaign strategies, an effective digital presence, and Prime Minister Modi’s personal popularity. Opposition parties, particularly the Indian National Congress, have repeatedly raised concerns regarding campaign financing, the alleged misuse of state institutions, voter registration practices in certain regions, and unequal political conditions. These competing narratives remain the subject of intense political contestation. Congress leader Rahul Gandhi has sought to counter the BJP’s political narrative through initiatives such as the Bharat Jodo Yatra and the Bharat Jodo Nyay Yatra. His central argument has been that India’s enduring strength lies in its constitutional democracy, religious pluralism, cultural diversity, and linguistic richness rather than in majoritarian politics. According to Gandhi, safeguarding constitutional institutions and preserving social cohesion are essential to India’s democratic future. Recent demonstrations, political mobilizations, and episodes of public unrest across different parts of the country have revived questions about whether India is entering a new phase of political transformation. Should these expressions of public discontent evolve into a broader nationwide movement, some analysts believe they could represent the most significant democratic mobilization since the Emergency imposed in 1975. Whether such a transformation materializes will ultimately depend on public participation, opposition unity, the state’s response, and the resilience of India’s constitutional institutions. Historically, India’s greatest strength has been its extraordinary civilizational diversity, religious pluralism, federal structure, and democratic traditions. If growing political divisions are not addressed through constitutional mechanisms, democratic dialogue, and the rule of law, their consequences may extend beyond India’s borders, affecting regional stability, economic cooperation, and prospects for peace across South Asia. The defining question, therefore, is not simply which political party will win the next election. Rather, it is whether India can preserve the foundational principles of its Constitution, democracy, federalism, religious freedom, the rule of law, and equal citizenship, for future generations. The answer to that question is likely to shape not only India’s political trajectory but also its role on the global stage in the decades ahead.

“By failing to prepare you are preparing to fail”—Benjamin Franklin Every monsoon, Lahore receives heavy rainfall. Every monsoon, the city appears surprised. Roads become rivers, underpasses become lakes, vehicles remain stranded for hours, businesses suspend operations, electricity fails in several localities and thousands of citizens find themselves trapped in their homes. Public officials then appear before cameras to assure the public that “all machinery has been mobilised” and “field staff are working round the clock”. The question, however, is not whether officials worked after the city was submerged. The real question is why a city that has witnessed identical scenes for decades still lacks the institutional capacity to manage a predictable annual event. Rain is not the problem. It is governance. The latest spell of heavy rainfall has once again exposed the widening gap between Lahore’s physical expansion and its institutional preparedness. It has demonstrated that despite billions of rupees spent on roads, flyovers, underpasses, signal-free corridors and housing developments, the city’s drainage infrastructure has remained dangerously inadequate. Nature merely revealed what administrative complacency had concealed. Lahore today is managed by a bewildering network of public institutions—the Lahore Development Authority (LDA), Traffic Engineering and Planning Agency (TEPA), Water and Sanitation Agency (WASA), Metropolitan Corporation Lahore, district administration, Punjab Housing and Town Planning Agency, Parks and Horticulture Authority and several cantonment boards. Each possesses defined statutory functions, separate budgets, independent administrative structures and overlapping jurisdictions. Yet when rain falls, responsibility becomes everyone’s—and therefore no one’s. The ordinary citizen neither understands nor cares which agency is legally responsible for a flooded road, a blocked drain or an inundated underpass. Citizens judge governments by outcomes, not organisational charts. If roads remain submerged for hours, traffic collapses across the city and commercial activity comes to a standstill, institutional fragmentation cannot become an excuse for collective failure. LDA deserves particular scrutiny because it has shaped Lahore’s urban landscape over the past several decades. Successive development plans have emphasised visible infrastructure and horizontal urban expansion. New housing societies continue to receive approvals while commercial activity spreads rapidly beyond the city’s traditional limits. However, sustainable urban development involves much more than constructing roads and approving layouts. It requires integrated planning for drainage, groundwater recharge, storm-water management, environmental protection and climate resilience. These objectives have too often been subordinated to short-term development priorities. The consequences are now visible across Lahore. Natural water channels have disappeared under concrete. Green areas have steadily declined. Impervious surfaces have multiplied. Urban sprawl has accelerated. Rainwater that once infiltrated open land now accumulates almost instantly on concrete roads and paved surfaces, overwhelming drainage systems that were designed for a much smaller city. The engineering challenge has fundamentally changed but not institutional thinking. TEPA has undoubtedly transformed Lahore’s transport infrastructure through extensive investment in roads, bridges and underpasses. Yet transport engineering cannot be separated from storm-water engineering. Every major road project should answer a simple question before construction begins: Where will the rainwater go? Unfortunately, repeated flooding of important roads and underpasses suggests that drainage considerations have often received less attention than traffic movement. Infrastructure cannot be described as successful merely because vehicles move efficiently during dry weather. Infrastructure succeeds only when it continues functioning under adverse conditions. Modern cities are designed not for ideal weather but for extreme weather. That is precisely where Lahore repeatedly fails. WASA occupies the frontline whenever urban flooding occurs. Its officers and field staff frequently work under extraordinarily difficult circumstances and deserve recognition for their commitment. Yet institutional performance cannot be evaluated solely by emergency response. Pumping millions of gallons of water after roads have flooded does not represent successful urban management. It merely demonstrates that preventive systems were insufficient. Effective drainage begins months before the monsoon through systematic desilting of drains, cleaning of disposal stations, maintenance of pumping equipment, removal of encroachments on natural waterways and continuous monitoring of vulnerable locations. Emergency pumping should remain the exception. In Lahore, it has become the annual strategy. The larger issue extends beyond engineering. It concerns public administration itself. Urban governance in Lahore suffers from fragmentation without coordination. One agency constructs roads. Another manages drainage. A third approves housing schemes. A fourth regulates utilities. A fifth removes encroachments. Each agency performs its own function with limited institutional integration. The result is predictable. Roads are constructed without adequate drainage capacity. Housing schemes are approved without corresponding investment in trunk infrastructure. Natural drainage channels disappear beneath commercial development. Freshly constructed roads are repeatedly excavated by utility agencies. Responsibility becomes divided while accountability disappears. Climate change has unquestionably intensified rainfall patterns across South Asia. Extreme precipitation events are becoming more frequent. However, climate change cannot become an administrative defence. If rainfall patterns have changed, engineering standards must also change. If cities are expanding, drainage systems must expand accordingly. If scientific forecasts predict greater climate volatility, development planning must incorporate those projections rather than relying upon obsolete assumptions. Unfortunately, Lahore continues to respond to twenty-first-century climate realities with twentieth-century infrastructure. The economic costs of this governance failure are substantial. Businesses lose valuable operating hours. Industrial production is disrupted. Supply chains are interrupted. Thousands of daily wage earners lose income. Motor vehicles suffer avoidable damage. Insurance costs increase. Property values decline in repeatedly flooded neighbourhoods. Public health deteriorates as stagnant water increases the risk of waterborne diseases. Collectively, these recurring economic losses almost certainly exceed the annual cost of maintaining a modern storm-water management system raising an uncomfortable question. If billions of rupees can be allocated annually for visible infrastructure projects, why does preventive maintenance remain persistently underfunded? Public finance should not reward ribbon-cutting ceremonies while neglecting maintenance. Maintenance rarely attracts political attention but its absence always attracts public suffering. The constitutional dimension is equally significant. Article 9 of the Constitution guarantees the right to life, a concept repeatedly interpreted by superior courts to include living with dignity, safety and a healthy environment. Article 14 protects human dignity, while Article 38 obliges the State to promote the social and economic well-being of the people.

By Laraib Ehsan “A nation does not only lose lives to terrorism it loses opportunities, confidence, and the promise of a peaceful future.” For over two decades, Pakistan has been at the forefront of the global war on terror. From suicide attacks on crowded marketplaces and educational institutions to the bombing of mosques, military facilities, and public infrastructure; terrorism has had an impact on the social fabric, economy, and politics of this nation. Despite progress achieved by Pakistan through the execution of extensive military and counter-terrorism operations, the revival of militant violence in recent years reminds us that the fight against terrorism requires continued vigilance. The true cost of terrorism is calculated not only in terms of the number of casualties but also in terms of the number of lives ruined, people displaced from their homes, and development hampered. According to the Global Terrorism Index (GTI) 2025 prepared by the Institute for Economics and Peace, Pakistan has been one of the countries worst affected by terrorism in 2024. The report showed a sharp rise in the number of terrorist attacks and casualties as a result of the increase in militant activity in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan. These two provinces have become the focal point of Pakistan’s current security threats where civilians, law enforcement officials, and government sites are regularly attacked. According to Security Report of the Pakistan Institute of Peace Studies 2025, presents equally worrying data. As per the report, 699 cases of terrorism were reported in Pakistan in 2025 leading to 1034 deaths and 1366 injuries occurring across the country.125 out of those killed included 354 civilians, 437 security personnel, and 243 militants. These statistics show that the phenomenon of terrorism has affected all parts of Pakistan, ranging from ordinary citizens to those responsible for ensuring the security of the state. Among all the provinces, Balochistan has suffered the most. It is rich in natural resources and significant in terms of strategic sites like Gwadar Port. Balochistan has seen not only attacks on law enforcement agencies, but also attacks on people, industrial workers, logistics, and infrastructure. Such incidents lead to loss of life as well as the reluctance of investors to invest in the region. A similar situation is happening in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, with the major part of this region being made up of the merged districts along the border with Afghanistan. According to official statements of the Government of Pakistan and ISPR, the majority of the latest attacks were conducted by Fitna al-Khawarij, which is the official name given to Pakistani authorities to the banned Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP). The authorities have stated that such organizations try to exploit the safe havens they have across the border to carry out attacks on civilians and military personnel. The Impact caused by terrorism cannot be measured only in figures. Each attack leaves communities sorrowful, resulting in the creation of orphans, damaging lives, and making people unsure in the future. Schools are closed, businesses stop working, and basic health services are absent from such areas. The recent case Indicates that the threat is present. In 2025 and 2026, Pakistan witnessed multiple occurrences of deadly attacks in Baluchistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa aimed at security convoys, passenger transport systems, and public gatherings. One of the worst attacks was on the Jaffar Express train in Baluchistan as it targeted a passenger train carrying hundreds of civilians. The attack resulted in loss of lives, injuries to passengers, and large-scale rescue operations conducted by the security forces of Pakistan, along with other implications of terrorism, transportation disruptions, and psychological impact on travel. Despite the challenges facing Pakistan, the response of the country has always been multifaceted. It has employed its intelligence operations to respond to the attacks and adopted innovative methods for border management and coordination of various institutions in civilian and military spheres. Nevertheless, the recurring incidents of terror underline that military effects on terrorism cannot by themselves eliminate terrorism. Pakistan has made immense sacrifices during the last 20 years, with thousands of civilians dead and armed forces, police, Frontier Corps, and other law enforcement agencies sacrificing their lives for the security of their country. The strategy adopted by Pakistan against terrorism has changed substantially in the last twenty years. After a series of deadly terrorist incidents in Pakistan, the country implemented a wide-ranging counter terrorism policy consisting of military actions, intelligence sharing, border protection, and legal modifications. These operations, Operation Zarb-e-Azb (2014) and Operation Radd-ul-Fasaad (2017), destroyed terrorist facilities and disrupted the networks of terrorists working in the country. As stated in the Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR), these operations led to the reduction of many terrorist organizations’ efficiency and helped restore state authority in previously affected territory. The Pakistan Army, together with the Pakistan Air Force, the Pakistan Navy, the Frontier Corps, the Police, and the intelligence services, has played a key role during the fight against terrorism in Pakistan. Thousands of soldiers and officers have become martyrs while saving civilian lives, defending borders, and conducting different intelligence led operations. Their sacrifices are in addition to the sacrifice made by police officers, rescuers, doctors, and ordinary people and represent one of the most significant contributions of Pakistan to the fight against terrorism in the world. Although military methods have diminished the power of terrorist organizations, specialists claim that it is not possible to defeat terrorism only by military efforts. As specified by the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), one of the most efficient means of fighting against terrorists is to stop their financing. Even though Pakistan has enhanced its anti-money laundering and counter-terrorist financing system in recent years, it is necessary to keep on practicing this idea and cooperating with other countries in order to avoid the rebirth of terrorist organizations. The economic Impact of terrorism is equally dangerous. The Pakistan Economic Surveys show that since 2001 terrorism has caused Pakistan direct and indirect economic damages of more than $150 billion. Namely, these damages include destroyed infrastructure, decreased foreign investments, reduced number of tourists,

The legality of a constitutional settlement cannot compensate for the absence of time, preparation and protection required to implement it The collapse of the Cabinet Mission Plan did more than extinguish the last comprehensive attempt to preserve a united India. It transformed a constitutional dispute into an administrative and humanitarian emergency. Indian National Congress proceeded with the Constituent Assembly, the Muslim League withdrew its acceptance of the Plan, and political distrust increasingly gave way to confrontation. Communal violence spread across different parts of India, demonstrating that the approaching transfer of power could no longer be treated simply as an exercise in constitutional drafting. By the beginning of 1947, Britain had reached a decisive conclusion. Its rule in India could not continue indefinitely, while no constitution acceptable to all the principal political parties had emerged. On February 20, 1947, Prime Minister Clement Attlee announced that British authority would be transferred to Indian hands no later than June 1948. The statement also acknowledged that, in the absence of an agreed constitution, Britain would have to determine whether power should pass to a central authority, provincial governments or some other arrangement. The possibility of more than one successor authority had now entered official policy. Lord Louis Mountbatten arrived as the last Viceroy in March 1947 with a mandate to supervise this transfer. He inherited a political order already close to collapse. The Cabinet Mission framework had ceased to command common confidence, the interim government was paralysed by rivalry between Congress and the Muslim League, and communal violence had exposed the fragility of provincial administration. Mountbatten’s task was not to negotiate within a stable constitutional environment. It was to construct a settlement while the institutions through which it had to be implemented were rapidly disintegrating. The central question was whether the deadline of June 1948 provided sufficient time to undertake an orderly transfer or whether delay would deepen violence and political uncertainty. Mountbatten chose acceleration. On June 3, 1947, the British Government announced a plan under which British India could be divided and power transferred to two successor governments. Punjab and Bengal would decide whether they should themselves be partitioned; separate constituent assemblies could emerge; and referendums would determine the future of the North-West Frontier Province and the Sylhet district of Assam. The date for transfer was brought forward from June 1948 to August 1947. The acceleration was defended as a response to deteriorating conditions. British authority was weakening, communal violence was spreading and the principal political parties had accepted that Partition had become unavoidable. Mountbatten and his supporters believed that a definite and immediate date would end uncertainty and compel the parties to assume responsibility. The opposing view deserves equal attention. A constitutional transformation of such magnitude required the division of provinces, armed forces, civil services, financial assets, railways, irrigation systems, records and administrative institutions. It required the establishment of two governments and the settlement of territorial boundaries affecting millions of people. Compressing this process into a few weeks inevitably reduced the time available for administrative preparation, security arrangements and the protection of vulnerable communities. The question is therefore not simply whether British withdrawal had become inevitable. It plainly had. The more difficult question is whether the decision to advance the transfer by approximately ten months converted political urgency into administrative recklessness. The Indian Independence Act received Royal Assent on July 18, 1947. It provided that two independent Dominions—India and Pakistan—would be established from August 15, 1947. It partitioned Punjab and Bengal, empowered the respective constituent assemblies to legislate for the new Dominions and terminated British responsibility for governing India. Parliamentary sovereignty, exercised from London for generations, legislated itself out of the subcontinent in an extraordinarily compressed period. The legal instrument was concise. Partition was not. An Act of Parliament could establish two Dominions, confer legislative authority and terminate imperial jurisdiction. It could not divide villages, canals, railway lines, police forces, military units, families and centuries of shared social existence with comparable simplicity. Constitutional law could provide a date for independence, but it could not by itself produce the administrative capacity necessary to manage the consequences of territorial division. The most visible illustration of this haste was the work of the Punjab and Bengal Boundary Commissions. Sir Cyril Radcliffe was appointed to chair both bodies and was required to determine the boundaries separating Muslim-majority and non-Muslim-majority areas. The task involved densely populated territories in which religious communities, agricultural systems, transport networks and commercial centres were deeply interwoven. He was given only a matter of weeks to complete it. Punjab and Bengal could not be divided by applying census figures mechanically. District-level majorities concealed substantial minorities, while economic and geographic considerations frequently pointed in directions different from religious demography. Rivers, irrigation headworks, railways and markets crossed the proposed boundaries. Sikhs were particularly vulnerable in Punjab because their population, landholdings and sacred places were distributed across areas claimed by both successor states. The commissions were expected to resolve these questions while political authority was itself being divided. Their members were nominated from opposing political sides and were unable to agree on many decisive matters. The ultimate responsibility therefore rested with Radcliffe, who was required to draw boundaries under extraordinary pressure and with limited opportunity for local investigation. More troubling was the timing of publication. The boundary awards were made public on August 17, 1947, after independence ceremonies had already taken place. Large populations in Punjab and Bengal consequently entered independence without knowing with certainty on which side of the new international frontier they would fall. The delay may have been intended to prevent the boundary controversy from overshadowing the independence celebrations or provoking immediate disorder. Its effect was to deepen uncertainty at the precise moment when administrative clarity was most urgently required. Officials responsible for security, local government and transportation had little time to prepare for the territorial consequences. Ordinary people were left to respond to rumour, fear and rapidly changing political realities. No law expressly ordered a complete exchange of populations between India

Dr. Abdul Jabbar Sahito Karachi, Pakistan The debate over creating new provinces in Pakistan has existed for decades, yet one crucial question remains unanswered: how can the public be convinced that administrative provinces are intended to improve governance rather than increase the burden on the country? Today, public trust in the state is already fragile. People are frustrated by corruption, bureaucratic inefficiency, and excessive government expenditure. Whenever the idea of creating new provinces is raised, many immediately assume that it will only produce more chief ministers, more governors, more provincial assemblies, more secretaries, chief secretaries, inspectors general (IGs), deputy inspectors general (DIGs), assistant commissioners, deputy commissioners, and an even larger bureaucracy. The public perception is straightforward: if corruption and inefficiency already exist with four provinces, what will happen if Pakistan has thirty-two or even thirty-six provinces? This concern must be addressed before any constitutional or administrative reform is proposed. The government should first present a clear governance model explaining exactly how these new provinces would function. People deserve to know whether these provinces will have provincial assemblies or whether they will operate through a compact administrative structure. Will each province be headed by a governor directly elected by the people? Will representation be limited according to population? These questions must be answered before asking the public for support. The objective of creating administrative provinces should never be to expand the bureaucracy. On the contrary, the government should explain that the existing administrative system can simply be reorganized. Unnecessary bureaucratic positions can be reduced, provincial cabinets can remain small, and major ministries can continue to operate under the federal government to avoid duplication. There should be only one chief executive for each province—either a governor or a chief minister, not both. Representation should remain limited and population-based instead of creating large provincial assemblies. The government must reassure the public that administrative reform will not increase financial burdens. Existing administrative and police structures can be reorganized instead of creating entirely new departments. A lean administrative structure is far more likely to gain public confidence than one that appears expensive and oversized. The purpose of administrative provinces is to bring governance closer to the people. Smaller administrative units can improve healthcare through new hospitals, strengthen education by establishing more schools and universities, expand road networks, and accelerate local infrastructure development. They can also encourage the emergence of new leadership, empower citizens to demand their rights, and make governments more responsive because they will be closer and more accountable to the people. Greater accountability should also become a central feature of this model. Institutions responsible for oversight, including NAB and other accountability bodies, would be able to monitor governance more effectively within smaller administrative units. Better administration can also attract greater investment, encourage industries and factories to expand, bring more businesses and brands into different regions, and create employment opportunities for local communities. The government should particularly engage the younger generation and begin this conversation in Sindh. It must make it absolutely clear that this proposal is not about creating provinces on ethnic or linguistic lines. It is not about separating Muhajirs from Sindhis or dividing communities. The proposal is purely administrative and aims to improve governance for every citizen. Instead of creating a province only for Karachi, every administrative division could become a province. Hyderabad, Nawabshah, Larkana, Mirpurkhas, Sukkur, Bahawalpur, and other divisions can each function as separate administrative provinces. If necessary, even the names of these provinces can be changed to prevent unnecessary political controversy. The purpose is not division—it is better administration. Such administrative provinces would encourage the establishment of more schools, universities, hospitals, IT parks, industries, factories, and businesses. They would provide young people with better educational opportunities, create employment, stimulate local economies, improve tax collection, strengthen infrastructure, support clean drinking water projects, facilitate the construction of dams, and promote environmental development through better local planning. However, none of these reforms can succeed unless the public fully understands the proposed governance structure. The government must organize seminars in universities, engage students and young professionals, and use the media to educate citizens about the objectives and practical benefits of administrative provinces. Public awareness must come before implementation. Ultimately, people will support administrative provinces only when they are convinced that the reforms are designed to create a government that is smaller, more efficient, more accountable, and closer to the people—not a larger bureaucracy with greater costs. Winning public trust is therefore the first and most essential step toward any successful administrative reform.