The AJK Unrest

Pakistan’s more than 240 million people live across an enormous and geographically diverse territory, yet governance remains concentrated in only four provinces, each responsible for more than 60 million people. This creates an administrative system that is too distant and overburdened to address the specific needs of individual districts and tehsils, especially in Punjab, where more than half the population is governed from Lahore despite the distance from areas such as Dera Ghazi Khan, Bahawalpur, and Sialkot. Remote citizens often have to make long, expensive, and difficult journeys to provincial capitals for basic documentation, land disputes, specialized healthcare, and other services; Chitral residents may face difficult travel to Peshawar, while Balochistan’s coastal communities may travel hundreds of miles to Quetta and encounter additional linguistic and cultural barriers. This distance produces feelings of neglect and unequal development, as peripheral communities may believe their taxes benefit major cities while their own areas lack clean water, schools, healthcare, and other basic facilities, potentially contributing to separatist movements and regional instability. India provides an example of more decentralized administration, operating with 36 states, provinces, and union territories despite being much larger in population and territory, while Pakistan’s One Unit policy of 1955–1970 demonstrates the dangers of excessive centralization and ignoring ethnic, linguistic, and regional identities. These experiences suggest that Pakistan’s existing provincial structure should not be regarded as permanent and should evolve according to changing administrative and social needs. The most practical solution proposed is to transform existing administrative divisions into provinces, using their established headquarters, government offices, police, courts, development authorities, and other infrastructure as the foundation for new provincial governments. Multan, for example, already has a civil secretariat, high court bench, police headquarters, and departmental offices, meaning it could become a provincial capital with comparatively modest investment rather than requiring the construction of entirely new secretariats, universities, hospitals, housing, and other infrastructure costing hundreds of billions of rupees. This would reduce financial pressure and allow existing administrative machinery to continue operating during a relatively smooth transition. New provinces could also stimulate regional economies by creating provincial governments, assemblies, ministries, civil-service positions, courts, judges, police structures, and thousands of jobs, while attracting professionals and reducing migration to overcrowded metropolitan areas. New police forces could improve law and order through familiarity with local languages, geography, and social conditions, while construction and increased spending would benefit contractors, suppliers, hotels, restaurants, transport providers, and other small and medium businesses. However, provincial creation alone cannot solve Pakistan’s governance or financial crisis: it must be combined with a strong crackdown on systemic corruption, including embezzlement, favoritism, bribery, ghost employees, inflated development contracts, fraudulent welfare payments, and theft of electricity and water. The cited audit findings—including alleged embezzlement of more than Rs40 billion from Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa government accounts and Rs25 billion siphoned from the Benazir Income Support Programme through fraudulent payments—illustrate the scale of the problem. Weak tax collection and severe electricity-sector theft and line losses further deprive the government of revenue, forcing borrowing and leaving inadequate resources for infrastructure and social development; therefore, administrative decentralization must be accompanied by stronger financial accountability, better revenue collection, and effective control of public-sector leakages so that new provinces can become financially viable and genuinely improve citizens’ welfare. Therefore, the creation of new provinces must be intrinsically linked to a comprehensive governance reform agenda that includes the establishment of independent and powerful anti-corruption bodies, the full digitization of government financial systems to eliminate human discretion and create a verifiable audit trail, the implementation of strict and transparent merit-based recruitment policies for all government jobs, and a radical overhaul of the tax collection system to ensure that every eligible citizen and business pays their fair share. The guiding principles for the creation of these new provinces must be crystal clear and fundamentally rooted in the national interest, and the primary criteria for demarcation should be the population size and the geographical contiguity of the proposed units, with the express purpose of ensuring that no new province is created on the divisive basis of language, ethnicity, or tribal affiliation, as such an approach would sow the seeds of further disintegration and undermine the long-term unity and solidarity of the Pakistani people. The history of Pakistan is unfortunately replete with examples of how identity politics and the mobilization of people along ethnic and linguistic lines have led to intense conflict, sometimes violent, and have distracted the nation from the more pressing issues of economic development and social justice, and it would be the height of folly to repeat these mistakes by creating provinces that are defined by a single ethnic group. The creation of provinces like Sindh and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa on the basis of language and ethnicity in the past, while a recognition of historical grievances, has also entrenched these identities in the political landscape, creating a sense of ownership and exclusivity that can sometimes manifest in hostility towards other groups. The goal of the new provincial scheme should be to create units that are diverse and pluralistic, where no single ethnic or linguistic group feels that the province belongs exclusively to them and where all citizens feel equally represented and entitled to the benefits of the state. A province should be a unit of administration and development, not a homeland for a particular ethnic group, and by focusing on population and geography, the government can create provinces that are both administratively viable and socially cohesive, fostering a sense of unity and patriotism that transcends narrow sub-national identities. This is not to say that the cultural and linguistic heritage of the various regions should be ignored, but rather that this heritage should be celebrated and preserved within a framework of civic nationalism, where the primary identity of every citizen is that of a Pakistani, and where the new provinces are seen as different branches of the same national tree, not as separate trees in a divided forest. It is absolutely imperative that the political parties of the country, which hold the levers of power and shape

For decades, Galiyat has been celebrated as one of Pakistan’s most picturesque mountain regions, renowned for its dense pine forests, breathtaking valleys, pleasant climate and rich biodiversity. Stretching across Nathia Gali, Ayubia, Dunga Gali and neighbouring hill stations, the region has long served as a sanctuary for nature lovers and a cornerstone of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’s tourism industry. Today, however, its iconic landscape is undergoing a dramatic transformation. Multi-storey hotels, apartment complexes and commercial buildings are rapidly replacing forests and open green spaces, raising growing concerns among environmentalists, urban planners and local residents that unregulated development is threatening the ecological balance and natural heritage that have defined Galiyat for generations. Over the past decade, multi-storey hotels, apartment complexes and commercial buildings have spread across the region at an unprecedented pace. Hillsides that were once covered with forests and open green spaces are increasingly dominated by reinforced concrete structures. Critics argue that the changing skyline is gradually eroding the natural character that made Galiyat a unique tourist destination. The concerns extend beyond aesthetics. Environmental experts have long warned that excessive construction on steep mountain slopes can increase pressure on fragile ecosystems, reduce forest cover, disrupt natural drainage systems and heighten the risk of soil erosion and landslides. As climate change continues to intensify extreme weather events across northern Pakistan, many believe that poor land-use planning could further increase the vulnerability of mountain communities. These concerns have recently moved beyond public debate and into the corridors of government. A dispute has emerged between the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Adviser on Tourism and senior officials of the Galiyat Development Authority (GDA), bringing renewed attention to the regulation of construction in one of Pakistan’s most environmentally sensitive tourism regions. During a recent visit to Galiyat, the Adviser on Tourism questioned GDA Director General Fawad Khan regarding the allotment of more than five kanals of government land at the Changla Gali Rest Area and the subsequent construction of a hotel on the site. According to officials familiar with the matter, the adviser sought clarification on the legal basis for the allotment and whether all applicable rules and procedures had been followed. The issue gained further attention later the same day when GDA Director General Fawad Khan, Director Administration Noor-ul-Haq and Director Building Control Farukh Jadun submitted requests to the Chief Secretary of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa seeking transfers on what they described as “personal grounds.” The provincial government did not approve the requests, and the officers have continued to serve in their respective positions. The developments have intensified public discussion about how construction projects are approved in Galiyat and whether existing regulatory mechanisms are adequately protecting the region’s environmental heritage. They have also revived broader questions about institutional oversight, enforcement of building regulations and the balance between tourism development and environmental conservation. For many residents, the debate is not simply about individual buildings. It is about the long-term future of a mountain region whose economy depends on preserving the very landscape that continues to attract visitors from across Pakistan and abroad. The controversy surrounding high-rise construction has exposed deeper concerns about governance and regulatory oversight in the Galiyat region. At the centre of the debate are questions over which institution bears primary responsibility for approving construction projects and whether existing laws have been consistently enforced. Speaking in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Provincial Assembly, Tourism Adviser Adil Iqbal announced that he intended to recommend a high-level inquiry to Chief Minister Muhammad Sohail Khan Afridi. According to the adviser, the proposed inquiry would examine how permissions were granted for the construction of high-rise hotels, apartment buildings and other commercial structures that, according to his assessment, may not fully comply with the applicable building regulations. The adviser has argued that preserving Galiyat’s ecological balance is essential not only for environmental reasons but also for the long-term sustainability of the province’s tourism industry. He has maintained that development should proceed within the framework of environmental laws and approved planning regulations. Officials of the Galiyat Development Authority, however, reject suggestions that the authority alone should be held responsible for the current situation. GDA officials maintain that construction approvals in the region are not issued exclusively by their institution. According to the authority, the Tehsil Municipal Administration (TMA), operating under the provincial Local Government Department, also possesses legal authority to approve certain categories of building plans. This overlapping administrative structure has become one of the central issues in the ongoing debate. Critics argue that multiple approval authorities operating under different regulatory frameworks have created uncertainty over accountability. Supporters of regulatory reform believe that overlapping jurisdictions make enforcement difficult and allow developers to exploit differences between separate sets of building rules. The local civil society organisation, Galiyat Tahaffuz Movement, has been among the most vocal critics of the existing regulatory system. Representatives of the movement argue that both the GDA and the TMA have failed to effectively enforce planning regulations designed to protect the region’s fragile mountain environment. According to the organisation, building permits have, in some cases, been issued under political influence or administrative pressure. It further alleges that inconsistencies between separate building regulations have enabled developers to obtain approvals that might not have been possible under a single, uniformly enforced regulatory framework. The movement has repeatedly called for a comprehensive review of construction approvals, greater transparency in land-use decisions and the adoption of uniform building regulations across the Galiyat region. It also advocates stronger environmental impact assessments before permission is granted for major commercial developments. According to government sources, the disagreement between the Tourism Adviser and senior GDA officials has reached the office of Chief Minister Muhammad Sohail Khan Afridi. While the provincial government has not publicly commented on the reported differences, officials familiar with the matter say the administration is attempting to carefully assess the issues before deciding whether to order a formal inquiry. Sources suggest that the government faces a delicate administrative challenge. On one hand, it must respond to concerns regarding environmental protection and regulatory compliance. On the other, it must avoid

Noreen Niazi, sister of Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf founder Imran Khan, made controversial remarks in a widely circulated podcast that drew widespread criticism across Pakistan. She alleged that the military confrontation with India, referred to in Pakistan as Marka-e-Haq (Battle of Truth), was a staged event rather than a genuine act of national defence and claimed there was a secret understanding between the Pakistan Army and Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi to mislead the Pakistani public. She further alleged that Israel and the United States were behind the conflict, claiming India acted under Israeli influence to pressure Pakistan into recognizing Israel through the Abraham Accords, that Pakistan’s government and military had secretly contacted Israeli officials, and that praise from US President Donald Trump for Pakistan’s leadership was part of this alleged agenda. She admitted she had no official information or evidence for these claims and had reached them through her own reasoning, prompting critics to dismiss the allegations as baseless misinformation that undermined the Pakistan Army, the country’s foreign policy, and the sacrifices of its soldiers. Her remarks triggered legal and political condemnation. The National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency issued her a legal notice and summons, accusing her of spreading false, offensive, and inflammatory content intended to defame state institutions, harm national unity, and warning of legal consequences under Section 174 of the Pakistan Penal Code if she failed to comply. Political leaders, including Punjab Information Minister Azma Bokhari, condemned the remarks, linked them to Imran Khan’s political outlook, argued they were contrary to Pakistan’s national interests and achievements, and warned they could be exploited by hostile foreign media to damage the country’s image. Her allegations about Israel were also rejected as inconsistent with Pakistan’s longstanding foreign policy, which supports the Palestinian cause, rejects recognition of Israel until an independent Palestinian state is established on the pre-1967 borders with Al-Quds Al-Sharif as its capital, and was reaffirmed by Defence Minister Khawaja Asif in May 2026. Pakistan’s passport, which remains invalid for travel to Israel, was also cited as evidence contradicting claims of secret normalization efforts. The Marka-e-Haq operation itself was a monumental moment for Pakistan that redefined the country’s military strategy and deterrence capability. The operation was not just a simple skirmish but a carefully planned and executed response to aggression that showcased the exceptional capabilities of the Pakistan Army and the Air Force. The armed forces, through coordinated leadership and superior tactics, successfully foiled any Indian attempts to escalate the conflict. The entire operation demonstrated Pakistan’s resolve to defend its borders at all costs and highlighted the nation’s advancements in modern warfare and technology. The Director General of the Inter-Services Public Relations provided a detailed briefing to the nation, outlining the ten strategic outcomes of the Marka-e-Haq. He explained how the operation transformed the nature of warfare and re-established a balance of power in the region. The entire Pakistani nation, from the northern areas to the southern coast, united in support of its military and celebrated the professionalism and bravery displayed by the armed forces. This unity was a source of immense strength and sent a clear message to the international community about the resilience of the Pakistani nation. It is this very success and the strengthening of national unity that act as a major irritant for the country’s enemies, both internal and external. Those who seek to destabilize Pakistan and weaken its military understand that a strong and confident army is the biggest obstacle to their nefarious plans. Therefore, they continuously resort to such malicious propaganda, attempting to create divisions and lower the morale of the forces. The false narratives propagated by individuals like Noreen Niazi are thus seen as a direct tool of these enemies to achieve their destabilizing objectives. The Pakistani nation, with its rich history of resilience and unwavering patriotism, has categorically rejected these heinous and baseless narratives. The people of Pakistan are not naive, and they are fully capable of distinguishing between truth and falsehood, especially when it concerns the defence and integrity of their homeland. The anger expressed on social media and in public gatherings shows that the public is fully aware of the sacrifices made by the armed forces. They recognize that the soldiers serving on the borders are the nation’s heroes and that any attack on them is an attack on the country itself. This widespread public condemnation has actually served to strengthen the bond between the people and the military. The false narratives, instead of creating doubt, have opened the eyes of the nation even further and have made it easier for the average citizen to differentiate between those who work for the country’s prosperity and those who, driven by selfish political interests, are willing to jeopardize the nation’s security for their own gain. The people are demanding that strict action be taken against all such elements, regardless of their political background or connections. They believe that the law must take its course and that such individuals must be held accountable for their words and actions. The unity and resilience of the Pakistani nation remain unshakable, and such cowardly attempts to create discord and spread lies will only serve to strengthen the resolve of the people to defend their motherland and its institutions. The state is determined to protect its ideological and geographical frontiers, and with the full backing of its patriotic populace, it will successfully thwart all such attempts to undermine its stability and sovereignty.

Regions with structural problems need structural fixes, not more funding formulas. Pakistan’s administrative map was drawn for a country that no longer exists. We have four provinces today, the same number we had 55 years ago, while East Pakistan, which used to be one province, now has eight administrative units and 64 subdivisions or districts. Since then Pakistan’s population has multiplied several times over, but the map has not moved an inch. That mismatch is the primary reason why resources never reach the people who need them. Pakistan’s approach when it comes to managing resources is wrong for a country this size. The population crossed 241 million in 2023, with density around 260 people per square kilometre. On its own, this is a sign of a healthy, growing country, just until we look at how that population is actually distributed. In the last six years alone, the country has added roughly 35 million people, which is a 16 percent increase. Sixty-one percent of that population lives in rural areas, 39 percent in cities like Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi. The alarmingly undeniable fact is that the trend keeps moving one direction, in which young people keep leaving villages for urban areas because those are the only places where jobs, universities and hospitals reliably exist. This migration is certainly not a lifestyle choice. This is bound to happen when four provincial governments are asked to administer a population that is five times larger than the one they were built for. Punjab alone holds 59 percent of the country’s population. It is administered as a single unit, but its population is more than most countries on earth. No provincial government, no matter however competent it is, can deliver electricity, healthcare and education evenly across a population that size from a single provincial capital. The same problem exists in reverse in Balochistan, which covers 48 percent of Pakistan’s landmass but accommodates only 11 to 12 percent of the population, and has absorbed six of the last six years’ 16 points of national population growth despite having the country’s thinnest infrastructure. These two provinces tell the story of two completely different failures. The cause, however, is common: the administrative unit is the wrong size for the job. The numbers underneath this are national rather than regional. Eighty-two percent of Pakistanis have electricity, but that average hides the gap between urban grids and rural darkness; hence urbanisation. The list of problems does not stop here. Take Balochistan, where one doctor serves 10,000 to 10,500 people. Sixty percent of the province lacks clean water, and filtration plants are scarcer still. Moreover, 70 percent of rural communities nationwide lack adequate education, and 44 to 45 percent of people in those communities never reach middle school. The human cost of that distance is specific and repeats itself in province after province. Young doctors trained in these regions leave for Punjab, Sindh and Islamabad. The biggest reason is safety, since their lives can be at risk in remote postings. The second is that a health facility 30 kilometres from the nearest paved road, unable to stock full equipment, offers nothing to build a career on. Vocational training institutes exist in these areas but sit locked, not for lack of funding but because there is no administrative capacity to operate them. These are not Balochistan’s problems alone. They can happen anywhere a provincial government is too large, too centralised, or too distant to reach its own population. Balochistan simply shows the extreme case. If it were split into three or four provinces, governments could actually reach people there. Then there is this issue of financial distribution, and this is where the case for new provinces stops being administrative and becomes constitutional. Pakistan’s own constitution ties resource revenue to the province that produces it. Sindh generates around 70 percent of national revenue and receives back only 24 to 25 percent. Similarly, Balochistan sits on gas fields and mineral wealth that fund the federation, while its own communities remain unconnected to piped gas or reliable power. Calling this a technical funding gap would be wrong because the problem is structural. Provinces too large to manage internally are also too large to track what they are owed, let alone claim it. Regions with structural problems need structural fixes, which again brings us to the dire need for carving out more provinces instead of introducing more funding formulas layered onto the same four units. How many provinces should there be is debatable. There are four now, and making that six or eight is better than staying at four. That would certainly put administration close enough to reach a village 30 kilometres off the highway, and close enough that Punjab’s 59 percent isn’t governed as a single bloc or Balochistan’s 48 percent of the map isn’t governed as an afterthought. Balochistan’s neglect, Punjab’s congestion, Sindh’s revenue grievance, the pressure on Karachi and Lahore are not four different crises but one. And this crisis will not be solved by anyone currently governing under the old map.

I will tell you exactly how it felt for Pakistanis all over the world the day the Makkah Defence Pact was signed. I am in London, and I can tell you that, for British Pakistanis, it felt like a wedding. I went to a café in central London and found a sort of celebration among Pakistanis. Phones were buzzing, television anchors were beaming, and for one evening, it seemed like every household in Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi was talking about the same thing: Pakistan, Saudi Arabia and Turkiye standing together, promising to defend one another. In Riyadh and Ankara, the mood was no different. Flags, statements, warm handshakes. A celebration, plain and simple. I miss Pakistan right now. Right now, Pakistan is illuminated. It is a sort of festivity. Celebration is in the air. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and Field Marshal Asim Munir have made it possible to put Muslim countries on a single platform. But I am a curious man by nature, and celebrations make me curious in a particular way. When everyone in the room is smiling, I always want to know who is standing outside, looking in through the window. So I went looking. I wanted to know what India was saying, what Iran was saying, and what the UAE was saying. And what I found was a much more complicated story than the one being told at the wedding. Let me start with India, because that is where the unease runs deepest. Turkish journalist Aslı Aydıntaşbaş, who studies the region closely, said it would be too early to call this a “Muslim NATO” or “Sunni NATO.” But she also said something important: this pact shows a real desire among regional countries to build their own security system, owned by themselves. Strategic affairs expert Brahma Chellaney went further. He warned that this agreement could make it much harder to control tensions if India and Pakistan ever clash again. He pointed out that during Operation Sindoor, Pakistan received far more military help from China than from Turkiye, but Turkiye’s direct support made one thing clear: if a conflict with India happens, Turkiye is ready to stand by Pakistan. Former Indian ambassador to the UN, T S Tirumurti, was even more direct. He said the pact uses language similar to NATO’s Article 5, and that its effects will not stay confined to the Middle East. Given the long, tense history between Pakistan and India, he said, this has to be read with that relationship in mind. So, my friends in India must learn one thing: their government should think 10 times, or even more, before going into a military confrontation with Pakistan. Then there is Iran, and here the tone was different again. Ali Akbar Velayati, adviser to Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, did not criticise the new pact. Instead, in posts written in Persian, Arabic, English and Turkish, he spoke of the resilience of Iran’s armed forces and what he called the defeat of the United States and Israel. He said this defeat proved that foreign forces, which he called the main cause of insecurity, must leave the region. And in the same breath, he said that growing cooperation among regional states can secure the region’s own security. In other words, Iran is not against regional countries banding together. It simply wants outside powers to step back. The UAE, as I have written before, took the most careful line of all. No rejection, no celebration, just pointed questions about who exactly this alliance is meant to deter. For his part, Turkish President Erdoğan tried to calm every nerve in the room. He wrote that the pact follows Article 51 of the UN Charter, the right to self-defence, and is not directed against any country. It is open, he said, to any friendly nation that wants peace and stability in the region. So here is what I take from all this, writing as a Pakistani watching his own country’s celebration from the inside. Pride is natural, and this pact matters. But a wedding always looks different from outside the window. India sees risk. Iran sees an opening to push out foreign powers. The UAE sees questions still unanswered. As Pakistanis, we should enjoy this moment, but we should also read the room beyond our own hall.

By Engineer Arshad Hameed Abbasi, International Energy, Climate Change and Water Security Practitioner and Engineer Idrees Abbasi, Former Consultant, World Bank,  and Mr. Amjad Butt, Writer; Secretary General, Murree Literary Council, resident of [address].    There is a particular kind of grief in watching an institution outlive its usefulness while still drawing a salary, still cutting ribbons, still issuing degrees that mean less each year they are printed. That is where Pakistan’s higher education system stands today, and it is time someone said so plainly: the paradigm has already shifted, quietly, without anyone in Islamabad’s marble offices noticing. It shifted on YouTube, on TED, on edX and Udemy and Khan Academy, in a thousand free lecture halls that never asked a single Pakistani student for tuition, a hostel fee, or four years of their life. The only people who have not caught up are the ones still running the old one. There is a particular kind of grief in watching an institution outlive its usefulness while still drawing a salary, still cutting ribbons, still issuing degrees that mean less each year they are printed. That is where Pakistan’s higher education system stands today, and it is time someone said so plainly: the paradigm has already shifted, quietly, without anyone in Islamabad’s marble offices noticing. It shifted on YouTube, on TED, on edX and Udemy and Khan Academy, in a thousand free lecture halls that never asked a single Pakistani student for tuition, a hostel fee, or four years of their life. The only people who have not caught up are the ones still running the old one. For decades, the deal offered to a Pakistani student was simple: surrender your time, your family’s savings, and your twenties to a physical campus, and in exchange receive knowledge you could not get anywhere else. That deal is dead. A seventeen-year-old with a smartphone and a working internet connection can now watch a Nobel laureate explain quantum mechanics, follow a structural engineer walk through a seismic design calculation line by line, or sit in on a Stanford lecture on macroeconomics — all free, all on demand, all taught by people who are, in most cases, simply better at their subject than the men and women drawing a professor’s salary in the classroom down the road. The tragedy is not that this content exists. The tragedy is that almost no one in a position of authority ever told the students it was there. For decades, the deal offered to a Pakistani student was simple: surrender your time, your family’s savings, and your twenties to a physical campus, and in exchange receive knowledge you could not get anywhere else. That deal is dead. A seventeen-year-old with a smartphone and a working internet connection can now watch a Nobel laureate explain quantum mechanics, follow a structural engineer walk through a seismic design calculation line by line, or sit in on a Stanford lecture on macroeconomics — all free, all on demand, all taught by people who are, in most cases, simply better at their subject than the men and women drawing a professor’s salary in the classroom down the road. The tragedy is not that this content exists. The tragedy is that almost no one in a position of authority ever told the students it was there. Ask yourself honestly: when was the last time a Vice Chancellor stood in front of a first-year class and said, “Before you trust anything I teach you, go watch the version of this lecture that MIT put online for free, and come back and tell me if I taught it better”? It has not happened, and it will not happen, because the entire architecture of Pakistani higher education depends on students not asking that question. It depends on the fiction that a degree is the same thing as an education, that a seat in a lecture hall for four years is the same thing as understanding, and that an institution’s worth can be measured in acres of campus rather than in what a graduate can actually do when the exam is over and the job begins.Ask yourself honestly: when was the last time a Vice Chancellor stood in front of a first-year class and said, “Before you trust anything I teach you, go watch the version of this lecture that MIT put online for free, and come back and tell me if I taught it better”? It has not happened, and it will not happen, because the entire architecture of Pakistani higher education depends on students not asking that question. It depends on the fiction that a degree is the same thing as an education, that a seat in a lecture hall for four years is the same thing as understanding, and that an institution’s worth can be measured in acres of campus rather than in what a graduate can actually do when the exam is over and the job begins. We do not need to guess what an alternative looks like, because the world has already built it. Universities that were once measured by the size of their footprint are now measured by the depth of their content and the reach of their delivery. Institutions like the National University of Singapore have shown that a compact, space-efficient campus married to serious digital delivery outperforms sprawling, underused infrastructure every time. Meanwhile, in Pakistan, students still find themselves inside partially built mega-campuses, sitting in half-used lecture halls, being taught by professors whose most recent research contribution was a maintenance grant, while the actual global classroom — free, current, taught by the best minds alive — sits one browser tab away, untouched, unmentioned, unrecommended by the very people whose job it was to point students toward it.We do not need to guess what an alternative looks like, because the world has already built it. Universities that were once measured by the size of their footprint are now measured by the depth of their content and the reach of their delivery.