SPSC: When Cockroaches Approach the Granary

Federal Minister for Petroleum Ali Pervaiz Malik has made an unusually candid assessment of Pakistan’s energy sector. Speaking at the Energy Conference 2026, he conceded that inconsistent policies discourage exploration, petroleum has been subjected to “exorbitant taxation”, domestic refineries remain in a dilapidated condition, gas-sector liquidity is impaired, circular debt remains a central concern, and structural reform requires competition, unbundling and private participation. These admissions deserve attention because they come from inside the government. They also raise an unavoidable question: if the government understands the structural weaknesses so clearly, why does its own fiscal and administrative policy continue to aggravate them? The minister’s strongest observation was that the Petroleum Division cannot remain the instrument upon which excessive taxation and financial interventions are loaded merely to meet budgetary requirements. The diagnosis is correct; the choice of victim is not. A government division does not bear taxation. Consumers, farmers, transporters, manufacturers and exporters do. Pakistan collected a record Rs. 1.567 trillion through petroleum levy during the fiscal year (FY) 2025-26, exceeding the budgeted target by about Rs. 99 billion. Petroleum products are nominally exempt from general sales tax, but motorists should not confuse exemption with relief. The levy, customs duty and the new climate support levy together impose an enormous burden at the pump.  An analysis of notified prices and consumption estimated that these petroleum charges generated around Rs. 166 billion in July 2026 alone—equivalent to roughly one-fifth of that month’s collection of Federal Board of Revenue (FBR). On petrol, government imposts exceeded Rs. 100 per litre during parts of August. [Ministry of Finance fiscal operations; OGRA notified prices] This is not energy policy. It is fiscal opportunism. Petroleum levy is especially attractive to Islamabad because, unlike federal taxes included in the divisible pool, its proceeds are retained by the federal government. Replacing sales tax with levy does not broaden the tax base or improve its progressivity [Bankruptcy of ideas—VII: The Petroleum (Levy) State, June 18, Minute Mirror, 2026].  It merely enables the federation to collect revenue without sharing it under the National Finance Commission mechanism. Provinces lose their constitutional share while the entire economy absorbs higher transport, agricultural and production costs. The levy is also excessively regressive. A litre consumed by a motorcyclist, rickshaw driver or small farmer attracts the same fixed charge as one consumed by the owner of a luxury vehicle. Diesel taxation travels through freight into the price of flour, vegetables, medicines and construction materials. The poorest household may not own a vehicle, but it still pays petroleum levy indirectly on almost everything it buys. The minister should have said plainly that Pakistan’s narrow and inequitable tax system is being sustained by taxing mobility and production. Powerful retailers, speculative real-estate interests, large landowners and beneficiaries of untaxed or lightly taxed wealth remain inadequately documented. The salaried class, formal businesses and petroleum consumers are repeatedly squeezed because they are visible and collection is easy. The minister also called for consistent and predictable policies to attract investment in high-risk onshore and offshore exploration. No serious investor can disagree. Exploration requires large sunk expenditure, long lead times and the possibility of complete failure. Pakistan cannot invite investors with one policy, reinterpret its terms through another notification, delay payments, restrict remittances and then wonder why exploration interest remains weak. The Pakistan Economic Survey 2025-26 acknowledges constrained domestic petroleum production, continued import dependence, suboptimal refinery utilisation and the effect of international instability on the import bill. These are not new discoveries. Governments have been promising energy security, refinery upgrading and accelerated exploration for decades. The institutional cycle remains familiar: announce a policy, delay agreements, accumulate liabilities, offer concessions, change fiscal terms and launch another policy. Offshore exploration is important, but it must not become another slogan. A dry well is a commercial risk; unstable contracts, delayed decisions and politicised administration are sovereign risks created by the state. Pakistan cannot remove geological uncertainty, but it can remove bureaucratic caprice. That requires published contractual frameworks, credible dispute resolution, transparent bidding, assured repatriation rules and protection against retrospective fiscal changes. The minister’s claim that the flow of circular debt has been maintained near zero without increasing consumer prices also needs closer examination. Circular debt is not eliminated merely because its current flow is temporarily contained. Arrears can be shifted through subsidies, delayed payments, financing arrangements, tariff adjustments, accounting recognition or government guarantees. The stock remains a claim on citizens even when it disappears from a ministry’s preferred flow indicator. Gas-sector circular debt reflects delayed tariff adjustments, expensive imported LNG, diversion of gas between consumer categories, distribution losses, theft, weak recoveries, unpaid subsidies and government-directed supplies without timely budgetary compensation. It impairs the liquidity of exploration and production companies, which then lack funds for new exploration. The state taxes petroleum to repair its budget while withholding or delaying money owed within the energy chain. This is fiscal cannibalism: one part of the sector is consumed to keep another functioning. The condition of local refineries provides another indictment. The minister rightly asked why they remain “dilapidated” and have not become deep-conversion facilities. Old hydro skimming refineries produce an output mix increasingly misaligned with domestic demand, including excess furnace oil and insufficient quantities of cleaner, higher-value fuels. Modernisation requires billions of dollars, technological planning and certainty over tariffs, duties, pricing and product specifications. Refineries, however, have enjoyed various forms of protection and deemed-duty support in the past. Any new incentive must be conditional. Public support cannot become a permanent reward for postponing investment.  Each refinery agreement should disclose the investment commitment, financing plan, completion milestones, product-quality improvements, environmental obligations and consequences of default. Consumers should not finance refinery upgrades through protected margins without enforceable delivery. The proposed unbundling of the gas sector—separating infrastructure from commodity trading—can improve transparency. An independent network operator, regulated access charges and genuine third-party access could allow producers and large consumers to contract without forcing every transaction through an opaque state monopoly. But changing organisational boxes will not cure political pricing, excessive losses, poor

There is a moment in every negotiation when the mask slips and the real hierarchy of loyalties reveals itself. It happened again recently, in the quiet grammar of a policy condition. If a deal with Iran is good for America, if it stops a war, secures a region, spares American blood and treasure, then it should be pursued on its own terms. It should not need to be laundered through a second question, but what does Israel get out of it? The moment that second question enters the room, the first one has already been answered, and not in America’s favour. This is not a rhetorical trick. It is a structural tell. A foreign policy genuinely organised around American interests does not require the ratification of an ally before it proceeds. It calculates costs, weighs risks, and acts. The insertion of an Israeli veto, soft, implicit, but unmistakable, into decisions that are framed as being about American security is not an alliance functioning normally. It is a client relationship wearing the costume of a partnership, and increasingly, the costume does not fit. I do not say this as someone hostile to alliances. Alliances are the ordinary furniture of statecraft, and no serious analyst begrudges Washington its relationships. What I begrudge, what any honest observer of the last two decades of American foreign policy must eventually begrudge, is the peculiar one-directionality of this particular relationship, in which American strategic autonomy is perpetually available for negotiation, but Israeli strategic autonomy is not. Successive administrations, Democratic and Republican alike, have discovered that the fastest way to kill a sound policy is to let it wander anywhere near Jerusalem’s objections. The Biden administration played this game with a kind of practiced fluency, dressing subservience in the language of “shared values” and “unbreakable bonds.” That the current administration appears to be playing the identical game, merely with a different set of talking points, should trouble anyone who once believed that a change in party might also mean a change in posture. The deeper dishonesty, though, sits beneath the day-to-day theatre of negotiation. It is the elephant that everyone in the room has agreed, by unspoken consensus, not to see. Iran is treated as the singular proliferation emergency of the Middle East, the country whose enrichment levels must be monitored down to the percentage point, whose every centrifuge is a matter of international alarm, whose nuclear ambitions justify sanctions regimes, covert sabotage, and the standing threat of military strikes. And yet a few hundred kilometers away sits a state that has possessed nuclear weapons for more than half a century, has never signed the Non-Proliferation Treaty, has never submitted to an inspection regime of any kind, and whose arsenal is discussed in Western capitals only in the passive voice, if it is discussed at all. Israel’s bomb is an open secret that everyone has agreed to keep. This is not a minor inconsistency. It is the load-bearing hypocrisy of the entire non-proliferation architecture in West Asia. You cannot credibly claim to be pursuing a weapons-of-mass-destruction-free Middle East while exempting, by unspoken convention, the one state in the region that actually has the weapons in question. Every argument marshalled against Iran’s nuclear programme, that a nuclear-armed state destabilizes its neighbors, that it invites arms races, that it holds regional security hostage to the judgment of a single government, applies with at least equal force to Israel, and applies to a country that has, unlike Iran, already used overwhelming force against multiple neighbors within living memory. The asymmetry is not a technical oversight. It is a choice, made and remade by every administration that has declined to place Israel’s arsenal on the table. What this reveals, I think, is that the “Iran obsession,” as it might fairly be called, was never really about proliferation at all. If it were, the conversation would begin with disarmament architecture applied evenhandedly across the region, inspections offered and demanded in both directions, and a serious reckoning with the double standard that has calcified into policy over fifty years. Instead, the Iran file functions as a proxy for a different question entirely, whose security calculus gets to define American Middle East policy. And on that question, the answer has been remarkably consistent regardless of who occupies the Oval Office. None of this is a case for indulging Tehran’s own record, which carries its own list of grievances worth prosecuting honestly, its human rights abuses, its regional proxies, its own history of destabilizing behavior. Clear-eyed criticism of Iran is entirely compatible with clear-eyed criticism of the double standard applied to Israel; the two are not in tension, and pretending otherwise is its own kind of evasion. But a foreign policy that claims the mantle of principle while practicing this degree of selective vision is not principled. It is theatre, and increasingly unconvincing theatre, performed for a domestic audience that is growing visibly tired of the script. The unpopularity of this arrangement is no longer a fringe sentiment. It shows up in polling, in generational splits within America’s own political coalitions, in the rising discomfort even among constituencies that have historically been the most reliable defenders of the relationship. People are noticing the pattern: that policies justified as serving American interests keep bending, at the last moment, toward a different set of interests altogether. They are asking, reasonably, who is actually driving the car. There is also a historical dimension to this that deserves more attention than it usually receives. The pattern of conditioning American policy on Israeli comfort did not begin with Iran, and it will not end there. It runs through decades of vetoed resolutions at the United Nations, through arms transfers that continued uninterrupted even amid documented humanitarian catastrophe, through the quiet understanding that certain questions simply are not to be raised in polite Washington company. Each individual instance can be explained away with its own set of justifications, security concerns, historical debts, domestic political realities. But taken together, across administrations

Pakistan has never lacked economic advice. Since independence, successive governments have experimented with socialist planning, import substitution, nationalisation, structural adjustment, privatization, fiscal decentralisation, value added taxation, documentation drives, digital governance and, most recently, artificial intelligence in tax administration.  Almost every reform has been presented as the missing ingredient that would place the country on the path of sustained prosperity. However, Pakistan continues to oscillate between balance-of-payments crises, external dependence, fiscal instability and repeated recourse to the International Monetary Fund (IMF). This persistent failure raises a more fundamental question. Is Pakistan’s crisis primarily economic, or are economists asking the wrong questions? For decades, the dominant explanation has remained remarkably consistent. Pakistan is said to suffer from a narrow tax base, inadequate domestic resource mobilisation, weak public institutions, poor governance and inconsistent implementation of otherwise sound policies. According to this view, if taxes were broadened, exemptions withdrawn, administration digitalised and markets allowed to function efficiently, sustainable growth would eventually follow. There is much truth in these observations. They identify many of the symptoms. But they do not fully explain why technically sound reforms repeatedly fail in Pakistan while producing very different outcomes elsewhere. The reason, as suggested in earlier writings, is that Pakistan cannot be understood through the conventional assumptions of public finance alone. Economic policy does not operate in a constitutional vacuum; it reflects the incentives created by the political and legal institutions within which governments function. Orthodox economics generally assumes a constitutional order within which governments seek, however imperfectly, to maximise public welfare. Fiscal policy, taxation and expenditure are analysed as instruments for correcting market failures, financing public goods and promoting economic growth. Political constraints are acknowledged but usually treated as external distortions rather than integral components of economic analysis. Pakistan presents a different reality. Here, constitutional arrangements, political incentives, strategic considerations and informal institutions have shaped fiscal outcomes as much as, and often more than, economic policy itself. Taxation has frequently reflected the distribution of political power rather than principles of efficiency or equity.  Public expenditure has often been determined by strategic imperatives rather than developmental priorities. External assistance has repeatedly substituted for difficult domestic reforms. Elite bargains have preserved privilege while transferring the burden of adjustment to documented businesses, salaried individuals and ordinary consumers. These outcomes cannot be adequately explained by models that assume an impartial state pursuing coherent economic objectives. The analytical framework itself, therefore, requires reconsideration. This series proceeds from a simple but powerful proposition: before analysing taxes, budgets or debt, one must first understand the constitutional rules that shape political incentives. This is the central insight of Constitutional Political Economy (CPE).  Unlike conventional public finance, CPE begins not with taxes or budgets but with the constitutional rules, institutional incentives and political structures that determine how economic decisions are actually made. It asks a prior question: Who designs the rules under which economic policy operates, whose interests do those rules serve, and how do they shape incentives for both governments and citizens? Once that question is asked, many of Pakistan’s recurring puzzles begin to appear less mysterious. Why do technically sound tax reforms repeatedly fail? Why do successive governments rely on indirect taxation while avoiding politically influential sectors? Why has documentation remained elusive despite extraordinary advances in digital technology? Why does every external crisis quickly become a fiscal crisis? Why has debt expanded despite repeated stabilisation programmes? The answers lie not merely in economics but in the constitutional and political environment within which economics operates. This series proposes a different approach. Rather than examining taxation, debt or fiscal federalism as isolated subjects, it will analyse them as interconnected manifestations of Pakistan’s constitutional political economy. Future parts will explore how colonial legacies, post-independence constitutional choices, geopolitical dependency, elite capture, federal arrangements, judicial interpretation and administrative incentives have combined to shape Pakistan’s economic trajectory. The purpose is not to reject orthodox economics. Public finance remains indispensable. Sound taxation, efficient expenditure and macroeconomic stability are essential for any modern state. However, these instruments cannot achieve their intended objectives when the institutional environment within which they operate generates incentives that systematically frustrate reform. Pakistan’s crisis is not simply a fiscal crisis. Nor is it merely a crisis of governance. It is, more fundamentally, a crisis of constitutional political economy. Unless that deeper reality is understood, technical reforms, however well designed, will continue to produce disappointing results because they address the symptoms rather than the constitutional incentives that generate them. In the next part, we shall examine why the assumptions of orthodox public finance differ fundamentally from those of constitutional political economy, and why that distinction matters profoundly for understanding Pakistan. [To be continued]  ____________________________________________________________________ Dr. Ikramul Haq, Advocate Supreme Court, Adjunct Faculty at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), member Advisory Board and Visiting Senior Fellow of Pakistan Institute of Development Economics (PIDE), holds an LLD in tax laws. He was full-time journalist from 1979 to 1984 with Viewpoint and Dawn. He also served Civil Services of Pakistan from 1984 to 1996. 

The visit of Pakistan’s Prime Minister and Chief of Defence Staff to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia on 6–7 August 2026 was officially presented as a meeting with Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS), accompanied by the performance of religious rituals in Islam’s holy cities. Yet, diplomacy is often conducted between the lines rather than in official communiqués. French newspapers, Indian news agencies, and Israeli media all reported that Pakistan, Türkiye, and Saudi Arabia were working toward a defence agreement expected to be signed on Friday. While no official confirmation has emerged, the reports have generated an important strategic debate. If such an agreement is indeed under discussion, what is its real agenda? Would it amount to a military alliance, and if so, against whom would it operate? More fundamentally, why would Pakistan and Türkiye, both facing considerable economic pressures, seek to enter such an arrangement? Or are we witnessing the gradual birth of a new regional security architecture in the vacuum created by the declining American military footprint in the Middle East, with Pakistan assuming an anchoring role?   The first narrative comes from Pakistan. Political analyst Parveen Sawamy argues that Pakistan is gradually emerging as the principal anchor of a broader Muslim strategic framework. According to this view, Islamabad has evolved from being merely a facilitator of dialogue to becoming a mediator and now potentially a guarantor of regional security. Among the members of the OIC, Pakistan enjoys a unique diplomatic position. It maintains working relations with almost every important regional actor, consistently supports the Palestinian cause, and remains outside the circle of states that have normalized relations with Israel. This balanced diplomacy provides Islamabad with credibility across the Muslim world.   Pakistan also possesses one of the most experienced armed forces in the Islamic world, capable of contributing to Gulf security should regional circumstances demand it. At the same time, Washington may not necessarily oppose such a role, particularly given the perception that General Asim Munir enjoys constructive relations with the Trump administration. Pakistan’s geographic proximity to Iran further strengthens its credentials, allowing it to maintain channels of communication with Tehran while preserving strategic partnerships with Gulf monarchies. If Islamabad succeeds in converting this diplomatic leverage into economic opportunity, a defence understanding with Riyadh and Ankara could mark the beginning of a new Muslim security framework based on deterrence, mediation, and regional peace rather than confrontation.   The second narrative revolves around Türkiye. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, despite facing domestic economic challenges, brings decades of NATO experience, an advanced defence industry, and diplomatic flexibility. Türkiye remains a NATO member, maintains dialogue with the United States, preserves working relations with Israel, and simultaneously engages actively with Asian and Muslim nations. Such strategic diversity enables Ankara to serve as a bridge between competing geopolitical camps.   From Türkiye’s perspective, participation in a trilateral framework would capitalize on its military technology and defence manufacturing capabilities while expanding economic cooperation with Pakistan and Saudi Arabia. Ankara also offers valuable diplomatic experience and could serve as a neutral venue for negotiations during future regional crises. If such cooperation enjoys quiet support from Washington, Türkiye would strengthen both its strategic autonomy and its influence across the Muslim world.   The third and perhaps most decisive narrative belongs to Saudi Arabia. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS) seeks durable security guarantees to preserve investor confidence in Vision 2030 and mega-projects such as NEOM. Economic transformation cannot succeed without regional stability. Recent conflicts have exposed the vulnerability of Gulf infrastructure to missile and drone attacks, prompting Riyadh to reassess its long-term security strategy. MBS increasingly recognizes that American military bases alone cannot guarantee the Kingdom’s security in an era of rapidly changing regional dynamics.   Pakistan and Türkiye therefore emerge as relatively affordable yet credible strategic partners. Saudi energy sustains both economies, while Islamabad and Ankara can provide military expertise, training, and strategic reassurance. More importantly, MBS appears less interested in confronting Iran through perpetual military rivalry than in managing competition through diplomacy backed by credible deterrence. If this approach succeeds, it could reduce regional tensions while safeguarding Saudi Arabia’s ambitious economic transformation.   Whether the reported defence agreement materializes or remains diplomatic speculation, the convergence of Pakistan, Türkiye, and Saudi Arabia reflects an important geopolitical trend. All three states require economic stability, strategic autonomy, and a more reliable regional security framework. Their interests intersect around the need to protect trade, investment, energy infrastructure, and political stability. If this strategic triangle evolves into a formal partnership, its true success will not be measured by the strength of its military capabilities but by its ability to prevent conflict, encourage dialogue, and foster prosperity. In a region long defined by rivalry, the most enduring alliance may ultimately be the one built not for war, but for peace.

Bio: Hamza Tareen is a student at LUMS, majoring in Political Science and with a keen interest in philosophy and theology.   Few individuals’ legacies are defined more by their peculiar life accounts than by their vast scholarly contributions. Majid Daryabadi is probably of that ilk. An exceptionally gifted child, raised in a deeply devout family, his life was in complete accord with the theological influences that enveloped him: from wearing the characteristic religious turban to being tutored in Quran and Arabic from the very early years. And, at the precocious age of thirteen, Daryabadi began penning polemical articles and essays aimed at defending Islamic doctrines—and refuting rival traditions. However, hardly anyone could have anticipated the drastic tempest that would soon ensue and shake Daryabadi to his core. Coming across the book titled The Elements of Social Science was the critical juncture in his life which struck at the very heart of his values. This work did not flagrantly castigate Islam or denounce any other religion; it assaulted something else: the underpinning social and moral frameworks which form the bedrock of society. Little wonder that Daryabadi, still a 16-year-old who had just finished his Matriculation, was disillusioned with the guiding theological foundations he had long cherished ‘when the claims and arguments of the book were in complete accord with libidinal urges’. This episode was the turning point in his life which estranged him from his beliefs and was the nascent emergence of a decade-long journey of doctrinaire atheism. Although his shift to skepticism was driven and cemented by encounters with the works of eminent atheists and philosophers, one thing particularly arrests attention and exposes the academic dishonesty present profusely in Western academia: the spurious claim that the citadel of their scholarship is erected upon objectivity and dispassionate ‘impartiality’. Daryabadi, in his autobiography, elaborates that ‘a poison ran through the lines’ of seemingly ‘objective’ and ‘scientific’ scholarship. In a remarkably furtive and implicit manner, the most profound religious convictions would be scoffed at and trampled underfoot. Two such illustrations are worth noting: a voluminous piece of psychology argued, targeting the blessed Prophet (PBUH), that it was possible for a man suffering from epilepsy to leave behind a great legacy. In another instance, the Prophet was depicted—reprehensibly and coarsely—in an artificially concocted image, which was merely the deplorable translation of West’s bias towards Islam. Daryabadi persisted in his skepticism of religion and would fiercely critique it through his various publications. But despite the outright repudiation, there was a concealed, but potent, bond with Islam, which did not wither away; when Samuel Zwemer, a Christian polemicist who had come to British India for a conference, began his critique of the religion, Daryabadi—by then an atheist—would offer his rejoinders in defense of the faith. The subtle and discreet traces of sacred convictions had survived the materialistic tumult. It was after a decade that Daryabadi would, slowly and gradually, experience a shift in trajectory. His voracious propensity to read, coupled with sheer curiosity, led him to scrutinize the works of semi-atheistic philosophers who had entertained spiritual dimensions and possibilities beyond the cold, materialistic realm. Subsequently, he delved into the study of Buddhism, Hinduism and theosophy. Something profound had changed. Seeds of belief had been sown—once again. Engaging with the spiritual aspects of the traditions led him to deliberate the possibility of the unseen. Taken aback by the profundity of insights and reflecting upon their perennial truths, Daryabadi was intrigued. His quest for the truth eventually led him to Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi’s Masnavi—the classic fountain of spirituality. The exemplar of Tasavvuf left a lasting imprint on Daryabadi’s rationalist outlook, unfolded before him a new horizon, and imbued him with an acute consciousness of the divine. Rumi’s Masnavi uplifted him from the recesses of oblivion to the light of the sacred. An epiphany reverberated through his austerely skeptical frameworks: the expanse of truth was too wide to be captured by the empiricist. And then came the final ‘nail in the coffin of atheism and apostasy’ when Daryabadi once again ventured to open the divine book, now bestowed with the ability to perceive the truths contained therein. That translation of the holy book was rendered by Muhammad Ali Lahori, a member of the Ahmadiyya movement, and Daryabadi’s enduring gratitude to him was a reminder to the puritanical Muslims who refuse to see the value in the works of those they deem astray. A poignant pilgrimage to the former self followed thereafter, and Daryabadi pledged allegiance to the renowned Sufi master Shaykh Ashraf Ali Thanavi—his father’s prayers had been finally answered. He went on to author a multitude of books, with his magnum opus being the multi-volume exegesis of the Holy Quran, Tafsir-i-Majidi, and was ultimately etched into history as a towering Muslim scholar who contributed immensely to Islamic scholarship.

These days, one phrase echoes throughout our country: “Pakistan’s system has collapsed.” If we translate the word collapse into plain, colloquial language, it means that our so-called system has completely broken down, gone to ruin, or become utterly dysfunctional. Therefore, the argument goes, the country now needs a new system. This, they claim, can only happen if, instead of the existing four provinces, Pakistan is reorganized into thirty or thirty-two new provinces. Such a restructuring, they believe, would push aside the traditional politicians and allow a new generation of political leaders to emerge. Otherwise, they warn, just as in India, there will be an uprising of the “cockroaches”—that is, the youth—which will force this collapsed, rotten system to surrender. At first glance, these words appear attractive and appealing. They express not only frustration and disgust with our current political situation but also offer hope to the younger generation, particularly Generation Z. It is as if they are saying: “Dear frustrated young people! We are opening the doors to your future. You will rise, dominate the scene, and sweep away all the debris of the past—that is, the traditional politicians—with the force of your determination and enthusiasm.” However, this humble writer sees, behind these beautiful words, not a bright future but the same worn-out and ugly mirage of the past. In reality, those who are truly responsible—the real culprits—cleverly distance themselves from blame, divert the attention of the youth toward others, and then present themselves as the young people’s sympathizers and supporters. In our poetry, it is through such tricks that the beloved murderer becomes an innocent beloved, and the criminal appears as the trusted confidant. But this humble writer calls it what it really is: “the thief making the loudest outcry.” Our national poet, Iqbal, once wrote: There is an outcry that Muslims have vanished from the world; We ask: Were true Muslims ever really present? In appearance you resemble Christians, in civilization the Hindus; These are the Muslims before whom even the Jews would feel ashamed. If, in today’s circumstances, you replace the word “Muslims” with “system,” the verses take on a striking new meaning: There is an outcry that the system has vanished from the country; We ask: Was there ever really a system to begin with? If we were to parody the remaining verses, they might be difficult for some to digest. Suffice it to say that those in power never truly allowed a genuine system to develop here. And whenever, after much struggle, some semblance of a system did emerge, there were always certain “respectable gentlemen” who seemed to have taken an invisible oath—or perhaps a vow of deliberate silence—that it must never be allowed to function. In the eyes of this humble writer, our system truly collapsed on 16 August 1946, when, under the guidance of the British establishment, the Direct Action Day was observed, reducing the foundations of any future system to rubble. From that point onward, the struggle was no longer for a functioning system but for personal rule. That struggle strangled democracy, human rights, liberty, and freedom, and instead built a grand highway of coercion and dictatorship. Anyone who dared to step off that path or disagree with it was labeled a traitor, an enemy of the nation, an Indian agent, or part of the so-called “Fitna-e-Hind” (the Indian conspiracy). These labels were then applied to whomever those in power wished. The first victim was Dr. Khan Sahib’s democratically elected provincial government in the North-West Frontier Province (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa), which was dismissed within the very first week. Soon afterward, the same authoritarian mentality struck the government of Ayub Khuhro in Sindh. It was also decided that any cabinet member who failed to say “Yes, Sir” to the Governor-General would be considered dispensable. Once the founding generation established such principles of governance, why would later generations lag behind in following them? Thereafter, the race for personal power was inevitable. In the end, victory was bound to go to whoever possessed the greater force—whether the power of the stick or the gun. How could it be otherwise? If, instead of making the Constitution and the rule of law your source of authority, you rely on personal superiority, intimidation, prestige, and the power of office, then someone carrying a gun will inevitably dominate the throne of personal power. And once that happens, the cycle simply continues. It is a law of nature that the bigger fish eats the smaller fish. Muhammad Ali Jinnah, Liaquat Ali Khan, Ghulam Muhammad, and Iskander Mirza all played their respective roles. Later, when greater power confronted lesser power, the result was the rise of powerful military rulers such as Ayub Khan, Agha Yahya Khan, Zia-ul-Haq, Pervez Musharraf, Ashfaq Parvez Kayani, and Qamar Javed Bajwa. (To be continued)