pakistan still have

 The Pakistan We Still Have to Build

Every 14 August, Pakistan awakens to the familiar colours of green and white. Flags appear on buildings, national songs fill the air, children dress in traditional colours, and speeches once again remind the nation of the sacrifices that accompanied independence. Yet Independence Day is not merely an occasion to celebrate the Pakistan we inherited; it is an opportunity to ask a more demanding question: What have we done with the Pakistan that was entrusted to us?

On 14 August 1947, independence transformed millions of lives. Pakistan emerged from one of the most extraordinary political movements of the twentieth century, carrying the hopes of Muslims of the subcontinent for political security, social justice, dignity and the freedom to shape their collective future. Nearly eight decades later, the country possesses a substantial population, strategic importance, nuclear capability, a young generation, a resilient economy and a remarkable human resource. But the distance between Pakistan’s original aspirations and its contemporary realities remains a serious national question.

The first mistake would be to interpret patriotism as silence about national shortcomings. Genuine patriotism requires the courage to identify weaknesses as well as the wisdom to recognise achievements. A country cannot strengthen itself by denying its problems. Nor can it progress through perpetual pessimism. Pakistan’s challenge in 2026 is therefore to move beyond both exaggerated self-congratulation and destructive cynicism.

The political history of Pakistan demonstrates the consequences of institutional instability, confrontation and the excessive personalisation of politics. Governments have changed, political alliances have shifted, constitutions have been amended, and civilian and non-civilian institutions have repeatedly struggled over the appropriate boundaries of authority. The result has often been a political culture in which winning power becomes more important than strengthening institutions.

This is particularly dangerous for a federation as diverse as Pakistan. Punjab, Sindh, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Balochistan, Gilgit-Baltistan and the regions of Azad Jammu and Kashmir possess distinct histories, cultures and political concerns. National unity cannot be imposed through administrative uniformity. It must be constructed through justice, representation, constitutionalism and an equitable distribution of opportunity.

The recent political and social tensions surrounding Azad Jammu and Kashmir offer another reminder that national integration cannot depend exclusively upon slogans. Reports of violent protests, deaths and political grievances in the region demonstrate how quickly unresolved questions of representation, economic opportunity and political legitimacy can become matters of national concern. At the same time, the ongoing electoral process indicates that democratic participation remains an important mechanism through which political differences can be addressed.

The lesson for Pakistan is broader than any particular political dispute: the federation becomes stronger when citizens believe that institutions listen to them.

Religion presents another essential dimension of Pakistan’s identity. The country was created in the name of a political and social vision deeply connected with the religious consciousness of the Muslims of the subcontinent. But Islam cannot be reduced to national symbolism, political slogans or ceremonial references. Its deeper teachings demand justice, honesty, compassion, accountability, dignity and responsibility.

The Qur’anic concept of Ummah is fundamentally connected with moral solidarity. It does not mean that differences disappear; rather, it teaches that human beings and communities are bound by principles of justice and mutual responsibility. The Qur’an repeatedly places justice at the centre of social life. Consequently, a religiously inspired Pakistan should not merely ask whether society looks Islamic from the outside. It should ask whether the weak receive justice, whether public resources are protected from corruption, whether the powerful are accountable, whether minorities live with dignity, and whether the poor have meaningful opportunities to improve their lives.

Pakistan’s constitutional framework itself reflects this relationship between Islamic values and democratic citizenship. The Objectives Resolution, incorporated into the Constitution, describes democracy, freedom, equality, tolerance and social justice as principles to be observed, while also affirming the rights of minorities to freely profess and practise their religions and develop their cultures.

This constitutional balance is important because religious identity and citizenship should not be presented as competing ideas. A confident Islamic state does not need discrimination to demonstrate its faith. It demonstrates its moral strength through justice. Protection of minorities is not a concession to another culture; it is part of the constitutional and ethical responsibility of the state.

Pakistan’s social crisis, meanwhile, is perhaps more complicated than its political crisis. Millions of Pakistanis continue to demonstrate extraordinary resilience, entrepreneurship and generosity. Pakistani professionals have achieved distinction around the world, while ordinary citizens routinely support relatives, neighbours and communities in times of hardship. Yet social inequality, unemployment, educational disparities, population pressure, inflationary pressures and unequal access to healthcare continue to limit the potential of a large part of the population.

The most important national resource is not the country’s geography, minerals or strategic position. It is its people. A nation with a young population cannot afford an education system that merely produces certificates. Pakistan needs education that produces critical thinkers, scientists, entrepreneurs, skilled workers, ethical professionals and responsible citizens. Artificial intelligence is rapidly transforming economies and professions, making it even more urgent for Pakistan to reform its educational priorities rather than simply expand enrolment.

The same principle applies to women and young people. A country cannot speak convincingly about development while large sections of its human capital remain underutilised. Pakistan’s future competitiveness will depend increasingly upon the quality of its education, digital capacity, scientific research, vocational training and entrepreneurial ecosystem.

Independence also has an international dimension. Pakistan’s geography has historically placed it at the intersection of major geopolitical interests. Its relationship with China, Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, the Gulf states, the United States, Europe, Afghanistan and other regional partners reflects the complexity of its strategic environment. But the strongest foreign policy is ultimately built upon domestic strength. Economic stability, political credibility, social cohesion and institutional continuity provide a stronger foundation for diplomacy than dependence upon temporary geopolitical alignments.

National security, therefore, should be understood in a broader sense. A secure Pakistan is not merely one with strong borders and capable armed forces. It is also a Pakistan where a child can attend a quality school, where a graduate can find meaningful employment, where a farmer can obtain a fair return, where businesses can operate predictably, where justice is accessible, and where citizens can disagree without fearing one another.

This is where the spirit of 14 August must become more demanding. Independence was achieved through collective political determination; its preservation requires collective civic responsibility.

The national flag should therefore remind politicians of constitutional responsibility, administrators of public accountability, teachers of their duty to educate generations, journalists of their responsibility to inform rather than inflame, religious scholars of the obligation to promote justice and tolerance, business leaders of ethical economic development, and citizens of their own responsibility to reject corruption and social hatred.

Pakistan does not need another generation that merely memorises patriotic slogans. It needs a generation that understands why the country was created and what citizenship requires.

The real tragedy would not be that Pakistan has problems. Every nation has problems. The tragedy would be to possess the human, geographical, cultural and intellectual resources to overcome them and still remain trapped by division, institutional distrust and short-term thinking.

On 14 August 2026, Pakistan should celebrate its independence, but celebration should be accompanied by accountability. We should remember the sacrifices of 1947 without turning history into nostalgia. We should honour Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah not merely through portraits and speeches but by examining the principles of constitutional government, unity, discipline, democratic representation and equal citizenship associated with the founding vision.

The Pakistan of tomorrow will not be created by flags alone. It will be created in classrooms, laboratories, courts, farms, factories, universities, newsrooms, parliaments and homes. It will be created whenever a citizen chooses integrity over corruption, dialogue over hatred, competence over favouritism and national interest over personal gain.

The greatest tribute to independence is therefore not simply to say that Pakistan is alive. It is to ensure that Pakistan becomes more just, more educated, more prosperous, more democratic, more tolerant and more united.

Seventy-nine years after independence, the question is no longer whether Pakistan has survived. It has.

The greater question is whether we are prepared to build the Pakistan that generations sacrificed to create.

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    A familiar and recurring phantom is once again haunting the political and intellectual horizon of Pakistan: the clamor for administrative redistribution and the carving out of new provinces. Whenever structural collapse, economic decay, and institutional governance reach their absolute nadir, the sanctums of power and the opaque enclaves of the establishment begin to chant a singular, predictable refrain. The root of all systemic malady, we are told, lies in the sheer geographical expanse of our existing provinces, and the ultimate panacea is the relentless division of the state. When one scrutinizes the subterranean motives, logical contradictions, and political expediencies governing this discourse, an uncomfortable truth starkly emerges. This persistent endeavor to shift the blame for chronic misgovernance and policy failure onto geographical boundaries, cultural entities, and ethnic identities is merely a resurrection of a time-worn colonial playbook—a deliberate diversion designed to distract the citizenry from real structural grievances while consolidating the apparatus of absolute control. History bears poignant witness to the reality that whenever ruling elites fail to mask their administrative ineptitude, systemic incompetence, and constitutional deviations, they seek refuge behind the seductive mirage of better governance, transforming the republic into an endless laboratory of reckless experimentation. One is compelled to ask: does any sound mind truly accept the medical wisdom of amputating a limb simply because a malignant ulcer has taken root in the arm? Are the pathologies of governance so superficial that merely redrawing cartographic lines will spontaneously engender distributive justice, institutional merit, the rule of law, and administrative transparency? A careful, unvarnished reading of pre-partition South Asian history reveals that this formula of administrative fragmentation was never a native or democratic innovation. Rather, it was a tested and ruthless instrument of British imperialism, rooted entirely in the cynical philosophy of “Divide and Rule.” In October 1905, when Lord Curzon partitioned the sprawling province of Bengal under the alluring and deceptive banner of administrative efficiency, improved governance, and better public service delivery, the official justification was identical to today’s rhetoric: that managing such a vast demographic mass from a single center was untenable. Yet history dealt a merciless blow to that colonial experiment. The people of Bengal rightly perceived the partition as a direct, existential assault on their linguistic, cultural, and political integrity, rising in fierce and unyielding resistance. Ultimately, the imperial master was forced into an ignominious retreat, revoking the partition of Bengal in 1911. That historical episode remains an enduring monument and a stark warning to contemporary rulers who imagine they can trifle with the collective historical memory, cultural affinity, and geographical unity of a populace under the intoxicating influence of unchecked power. From the very inception of Pakistan, the ruling classes consistently spurned the genuine principles of cooperative federalism, choosing instead to enshrine coercive and authoritarian centralism as the ultimate guarantee of their survival. During the formative decades of the republic, when the delicate question of distributing democratic rights among diverse constituent units arose, the dominant factions lacked the political maturity required for a pluralistic state. Instead, they forced all the western provinces and states into an unnatural straitjacket known as the “One Unit” scheme. That dark chapter of authoritarian engineering laid bare the callous indifference of the ruling elite toward the historical identities and rich diversity of the people, subjugating all societal bonds to the preservation of concentrated power. When that forced administrative edifice eventually fractured under the weight of unrelenting public resistance, the four-province federal structure was reluctantly conceded. Yet the true spirit of federalism was never allowed to breathe. The constitutional imperatives of provincial autonomy were systematically subverted, resources were inequitably distributed, and the unquenchable thirst for hegemony converted the federation into a fragile, crisis-ridden entity perpetually at war with its own constituent parts. Renowned scholars and theorists of public administration and cooperative federalism universally agree that when any sub-national unit exceeds optimal parameters in territory and population, it inevitably succumbs to bureaucratic inertia and administrative paralysis. According to global academic consensus, effective public service delivery demands a balanced proportional equilibrium between geography and demography, ensuring that the writ of the state and essential services penetrate even the most peripheral districts. However, the high-performing federal democracies of the world—such as the United States, Canada, Australia, or Germany—do not achieve excellence in governance merely because their constituent units happen to be geographically compact. They succeed because they rigorously enforce the foundational principle of **Subsidiarity**, which dictates that governance decisions must always be executed at the lowest possible tier capable of addressing them, rather than being arrogated by a distant center or provincial capital. Conversely, the powerful elite who orchestrate policy from behind the veil in Pakistan remain profoundly detached from this philosophical prerequisite. The core issue here is not the mere physical size of a province; it is the centralization of coercive power, deep-seated fiscal distortions, and a bankrupt political intent. 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  • Colors of the Rain, Soul of Thar

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Without grazing land, livestock become weak, and many young people leave for distant cities in search of livelihoods. Yet the moment the monsoon clouds appear on the horizon, lamps of hope begin to glow in every heart. Rain does not merely bring water it opens a new chapter of life. Within days of rainfall, the endless dunes transform into carpets of emerald green. The songs of peacocks, the calls of cuckoos, herds of goats, caravans of camels, and the fragrance of wildflowers carried by the breeze create a symphony that no modern city can ever reproduce. Rain-fed ponds fill with fresh water. Children leap with joy. Herders lead their animals to lush grazing lands. Thari women, dressed in brilliantly colored traditional attire, sing ancient folk songs. The entire landscape becomes a celebration of life. If there is one place where nature reveals its complete magnificence during the rainy season, it is the Karoonjhar Hills of Nagarparkar. 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  • The Most Powerful State of Mind

    God had bestowed a vast and expansive empire upon Tsar Nicholas II. He was the King of Russia. He had only one son, who was born with a disease called hemophilia. This is a disease due to which the body’s ability to clot blood decreases; even a small wound causes excessive bleeding, placing the patient’s life in severe danger. The child was treated, but there was no improvement. One day, the famous Russian occultist Rasputin reached the child and performed some specific practices; astonishingly, the child recovered. Empress Alexandra was deeply impressed by this act and accepted Rasputin as her spiritual guide (Peer). The Empress not only provided him residence in the royal palace but also began taking his advice on state affairs. Rasputin was an extremely clever man. Through his words and practices, he captivated the royal family. When the First World War began in 1914, Russia suffered significant losses. Nicholas II left to take command of the army, because of which Empress Alexandra’s reliance on Rasputin increased further, and Rasputin also began taking an interest in political affairs. Gradually, he bound the King and the royal family within the spell of his words, and now he began interfering fully in the affairs of the country. Government ministers were unhappy with Rasputin’s immense popularity but were forced to accept his decisions. However, the public openly began criticizing the royal family because Rasputin was considered a corrupt person. This process continued in this manner. He would get his favored people appointed to important positions, because of which corruption reached its peak in the country; finally, the vessel of the public’s patience overflowed, and in 1917, protests began against the government. The royal family was still a follower of Rasputin, the result of which turned out to be very horrific. Public wrath intensified, Tsar Nicholas II was assassinated, and his regime was overthrown. The central character of this exemplary story was Rasputin, who, by conquering the minds of the royal family, made them make decisions as a result of which the world’s largest empire was destroyed. When an individual becomes so influenced by someone’s words or by a captivating sight that they forget everything and get lost in it, and their logical mind stops working, this state is called the “Alpha State.” In this condition, brain waves move at a specific speed and focus the individual’s attention on a single point. Taking advantage of this very state, certain short-sighted individuals fill the minds of innocent people with negative thoughts and incite them toward destruction. Rasputin’s example is the negative side of the “Alpha State”; however, it also has a positive side, which, if we learn to use, can yield astonishing results. 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When we were in the mother’s womb, even then we were in the “Alpha State.” There, all our needs were met, and we were free from all kinds of worries. The world’s greatest creation occurs in the “Alpha State.” Look at music. Behind other creations, there is some preparation or another, whereas music is something behind which there is nothing; a thought suddenly comes to the musician’s mind, and from it, a melody begins to form. This work also occurs in the Alpha State. Communication becomes very easy in the Alpha State. If you want to see an excellent example of this, look at the relationship between a mother and child. Sometimes the child is many miles away from the mother, but even without any contact, the mother senses their pain. In daily life, we pass through this condition many times. 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  • The Euphemism of Integration: Kashmir Seven Years …

    By Ahmad Hassan “The convoluted wording of legalisms grew up around the necessity to hide from ourselves the violence we intend toward each other… Elaborate euphemisms may conceal your intent to kill, but behind any use of power over another the ultimate assumption remains: ‘I feed on your energy.’” When Frank Herbert wrote those words in his novel Dune Messiah, he observed that elaborate euphemisms are often used by the state to conceal the raw mechanics of power. In Pakistan, August 5 is observed as Youm-e-Istehsal to condemn the 2019 revocation of Article 370 and its supplementary provision, Article 35A. This act of the Indian government removed Kashmir’s separate constitution, its flag and its control over its own affairs. Last week marked seven years since that day. What began as a dramatic constitutional rupture has now, by design, become quietly normalized. Jammu and Kashmir joined India in 1947 on defined terms. The Maharaja handed over defence, foreign affairs and communications. Everything else stayed with the state. The United Nations later called for a plebiscite. It never happened. Instead, over decades, the protections that were supposed to stand in its place were worn down piece by piece, until August 5, 2019, when the government removed what remained in a single stroke. The method deserves more attention than it usually gets. Article 370 was not directly changed. First, the government reached for Article 367, which was intended to aid in the interpretation of the Constitution, and used it to redefine one phrase: “Constituent Assembly” became “Legislative Assembly.” Kashmir had no sitting assembly at the time, and the state was under President’s Rule. So, the government’s own appointee, the Governor, signed off on the change. India’s Supreme Court had already ruled, in 1959 and again in 1969, that Kashmir’s constitutional status could only be changed after the approval of the Constituent Assembly of Kashmir. When that body no longer existed, no institution had the standing to give that consent on Kashmir’s behalf. New Delhi decided that its own Governor could stand in for the people he had not been elected by. That is not consent. It is a government consenting to itself. The Indian government argued that Kashmiris had lived for decades under an insurgency that killed tens of thousands and emptied the Valley of its Pandit community in 1990. It left the region isolated from the investment and policing coordination. That argument would carry more weight if the method had matched it. What followed the revocation was not the language of integration. It was a total communications blackout, landlines and mobile networks and the internet all cut at once. Independent estimates put the troop presence at 600,000 to 800,000, roughly one soldier for every ten Kashmiris. Even pro-India politicians, former chief ministers among them, were placed under detention. Perhaps a security argument can justify counter-insurgency operations. It cannot by itself justify dissolving a state’s constitutional status, its legislature and its statehood in one move. That too with no elected Kashmiri voice given the chance to object. Jawaharlal Nehru warned Parliament about exactly this shortcut in 1952, while Article 370 was still being drafted. No clause in a constitution, he said, could substitute for the will of the Kashmiri people. Real integration, in his words, comes from the mind and the heart, not from a clause imposed from outside. Actually, there is a longer, quieter project behind the legal manoeuvre. Article 35A once barred outsiders from buying land or settling permanently in Kashmir. Since its removal, more than 3.2 million domicile certificates have gone to outsiders, most of them non-Kashmiri Hindus. This alarming thing is that wherever a disputed territory’s demographics are reshaped before its people are asked what they want, the eventual vote, if one ever comes, no longer reflects the population whose future was originally in question. None of this required an invading army, or an open declaration of intent. It required a redefined word, a signature from an appointee, and a great deal of time. The convoluted legalisms that Herbert warned about have become policy in Kashmir: development, integration, correction. Each euphemism has quietly done the work that an honest admission of purpose could never have achieved. Seven years on, Kashmir’s assembly has voted decisively against the BJP that carried out the revocation, and passed its own resolution demanding the restoration of its special status. New Delhi can easily ignore them. Yet, that very power to ignore an elected legislature proves, beyond any doubt, that the “consent” obtained seven years ago was always a legal fiction

  • Beyond new provinces, a blueprint for better gover…

    Pakistan has entered a crucial phase in its constitutional and administrative journey. With a population exceeding 250 million, the governance model that served the country decades ago is increasingly being questioned. Recent public discussions, including remarks by Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi advocating a debate on administrative reforms in light of Pakistan’s growing population, have reignited an important national conversation: Is it time to rethink how Pakistan is governed? In my view, the answer is yes. The real challenge is not simply whether Pakistan should create more provinces. The real challenge is how governance can be brought closer to the people. A modern state cannot be effectively administered through excessive centralization when its population, economy, and urban centers have expanded dramatically over the past several decades. The first and most important reform should be the empowerment of local governments. District administrations, metropolitan authorities, and municipal governments should be given genuine constitutional authority, financial autonomy, and administrative independence. Citizens interact with government primarily through local institutions. Therefore, healthcare, education, sanitation, water supply, transport, municipal planning, and public safety should be managed by empowered local governments rather than through an overly centralized administrative structure. Karachi represents the strongest example of why governance reform has become a necessity rather than a choice. As Pakistan’s largest city and economic engine, Karachi deserves a governance model specifically designed for a modern global megacity. Despite its enormous contribution to the national economy, the city continues to face serious challenges in urban planning, infrastructure, traffic management, public transport, water supply, waste management, and municipal administration. In my opinion, simply placing Karachi under direct federal control would not automatically solve these problems. The federal government already carries enormous national responsibilities, and transferring administrative authority without structural reforms may simply relocate existing governance challenges. Instead, Karachi requires a metropolitan governance model comparable to internationally recognized cities such as New York, where professional city administration, clearly defined institutional responsibilities, strong municipal leadership, effective policing coordination, urban planning, and financial autonomy work together under a comprehensive metropolitan framework. Such a model could improve service delivery while ensuring greater accountability and long-term planning. Governance reform should not stop at strengthening local governments. Pakistan should also seriously consider creating additional provinces wherever there is genuine administrative need, broad public consultation, and constitutional consensus. Smaller provinces can improve administrative efficiency, strengthen regional representation, and make governments more responsive to local communities. More representative provincial structures can also help ensure that the concerns of both urban and rural populations receive greater attention at the national level. Equally important is the devolution of administrative authority to districts and local institutions. Excessive concentration of political and administrative power often limits opportunities for ordinary citizens to influence decisions that directly affect their lives. A stronger local government system would enable communities to participate more effectively in governance while improving transparency, accountability, and public service delivery. This debate should never be viewed as an attempt to weaken Sindh or divide its people. On the contrary, I believe these reforms would strengthen Sindh by ensuring that development and decision-making reach every corner of the province. Whether someone lives in Kandhkot, Larkana, Mithi, Islamkot, Mirpurkhas, Badin, Hyderabad, Thatta, or Karachi, every citizen deserves equal access to quality healthcare, education, infrastructure, clean drinking water, municipal services, and economic opportunities. An equally important aspect of this reform process is public awareness and civic education. Pakistan needs a network of credible academics, constitutional experts, economists, retired civil servants, educationists, and respected members of civil society who can engage directly with communities across Sindh, particularly in rural and underserved areas where access to balanced political information may be limited. Their role should be to explain, in Sindhi and other local languages, the constitutional, administrative, and economic implications of decentralization, stronger local governments, and, where appropriate, the creation of additional provinces. Many citizens hear conflicting political narratives about these proposals. In my view, people should be encouraged to evaluate reforms on the basis of evidence, administrative efficiency, and public welfare rather than fear or political rhetoric. If these reforms genuinely improve representation, accountability, and service delivery, they should be supported regardless of political interests. Ultimately, the objective should not be to benefit any political party but to empower every citizen and ensure that governance serves the people instead of entrenched centers of power. Unfortunately, discussions about administrative reform are often overshadowed by political narratives that generate fear and misunderstanding. In my opinion, governance reforms should be evaluated on their administrative merits rather than through the lens of partisan politics. Citizens should be encouraged to examine whether decentralisation would improve their quality of life instead of viewing every proposal as a political contest. Meaningful reform also requires strengthening independent institutions, ensuring merit-based appointments, improving accountability, and modernising public administration. Whether Pakistan ultimately retains its parliamentary system or chooses another constitutional framework, lasting success will depend upon transparent institutions, professional governance, and effective local administration. Pakistan’s future does not depend merely on drawing new boundaries on a map. It depends upon building a governance system that places citizens—not bureaucracy or political centralization, at the center of public administration. Strong local governments, empowered districts, efficient metropolitan administrations, and, where constitutionally appropriate, additional provinces can together create a stronger federation, a more prosperous Sindh, and a better future for every Pakistani. A prosperous Pakistan will be built not through the concentration of power, but through the fair and effective distribution of power to the people.

  • Detouring Development

    Development is the process of creating lasting improvements in the lives of people by addressing their genuine social, economic, and public needs and not merely constructing new infrastructure, completing projects, impressive photographs, or utilising the allocated public funds. In a true sense, the real measure of development is whether the real problem has been solved, and whether the interventions have created sustainable public value and an evident change in social or economic conditions of the society. A project should begin with a clearly defined problem and public need. Its vision, goals, activities, and measurable indicators should follow the problem. In professional project management practices, all these elements are recorded in the planning and design phase. In Pakistan, we have mastered the art of reporting these elements without achieving any meaningful results. Imagine a public park surrounded by a steel fence. Children and families using the park are visible from the road. If funds are available and privacy is the genuine concern, the executing agency can add steel sheets, plant trees, or use temporary screens. Each solution is inexpensive and retains the existing structure. However, if the focus is primarily on expenditure, the agency may remove the functioning fence and replace it with a new brick wall. This may have a longer life, but is not necessarily the most economical or appropriate solution. Considering Pakistan’s fragile economic outlook, many major development projects are financed through foreign loans. Such funds are eventually repaid, often with interest. Money spent on an unnecessary intervention is no longer available for genuine public need. This is a recurring weakness in Pakistan, where success is measured by the money spent, not by the effectiveness of the solution. This recalls Peter Drucker’s observation. “There is nothing so useless as doing efficiently that which should not be done at all.” The continued existence of infrastructure built during the Mughal and British periods is in contrast with contemporary projects, which deteriorate within years. This might be a romantic comparison, influenced by the fact that we see only the structures that survived, but durability and long-term public value are not central to our project culture. The same mindset is evident in urban beautification schemes. Imagine a local government installs a 15-foot-high statue. The project is indeed beautiful and will produce attractive photographs for official reports, but if the same statue is mounted on thoughtfully designed columns, the shaded seating can be utilised by daily wage workers who gather at bus stops, on footpaths, and in other public spaces because no designated facility is available. This is not an encroachment issue, but a planning failure. Planners and designers should use one intervention to achieve multiple objectives. Imagine a decades-old roundabout, with a working fountain surrounded by grass. During hot afternoons, labourers and children visit the site to cool themselves in the fountain’s spray. Officials might consider this behaviour undesirable and wish to block access. They can barricade it through small trees or shrubs, but the typical response will be to uproot the entire structure, construct a new fountain, and replace the grass with artificial green carpet. The public behaviour may reflect the unavailability of affordable recreational areas or public bathing facilities. Yet, the official solution destroys a functioning public asset, removes a natural green area, and spends substantial funds without addressing the underlying need. Needs assessment appears in project reports, but they are rarely conducted with sufficient depth. Imagine a posh housing society, where tubewells were eventually replaced by private borewells. Residents have spent a considerable amount to arrange their own water supply. Now, if any government agency has received funds for water distribution, they should spend it in areas where the people are still digging borewells or have no access to clean drinking water. However, again the typical response will be to spend millions in this posh area, where households have already arranged their own water supply. The fall of the water table is the real problem, which in this case will persist after spending millions. Pakistan has an extensive planning structure, which includes the federal and provincial bodies, planning departments in government organizations, consultants, and project management units. In 2025-26 alone, the National Economic Council approved the national development portfolio of 4.224 trillion. Such substantial expenditure should produce visible and lasting improvement in people live. The problem, therefore, is not insufficient funding, but how projects are identified, designed, approved, and evaluated. The same problem is visible in education, health, and administrative projects. Consider a basic health unit or education facility with a leaking roof. The available funds should be directed to fix the roof. However, funds are allocated to boundary wall, new signage, and in some cases, for an entirely new building. Similarly, for decade, government departments are trying to digitise their operations. For a quick solution, these departments procure specialised softwares, which has high licensing costs, and inadequate training mechanisms. After years of implementation, enforcement, and expenditure, the same departments revert to paper files or to a new software. The first step should be, to strengthen the capacity of all relevant staff in problem identification and root cause analysis. Every project initiation document should clearly identify the problem, public need, examine alternatives, and link the proposed intervention to public value. These elements should always be in quantifiable terms. Moreover, the project indicators should measure the extent to which the problem is solved and the post-completion evaluation should validate the visualized public benefits. Institutions move energetically, spend heavily, and report extensively, but bypass the original problem. Pakistan does not simply need more projects; it needs projects to solve problems; it needs interventions that respond to genuine needs, preserve what already works, and provide sustainable public value. The true measure should not be the amount spent but the resolution of the problem. Unless problem-solving becomes central to planning and evaluation, fund utilisation will continue to be mistaken for development and detour away from progress we seek. Writers  Dr. Sikandar Bilal Khattak  Academician with Research Interest in Sustainable Systems Can be

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