Who Is Responsible for the Truth?

Some things become part of your identity long before you understand why.   My love for Kashmir is one of them.   I have never had to convince myself that Kashmir mattered. It simply did. I suspect most Pakistanis would say the same. We grew up believing that Kashmiris were not strangers separated by a Line of Control, but brothers and sisters separated by circumstance.   Over time, that state narrative became something far more personal. It became brotherhood.   And brotherhood, if it means anything at all, means respecting the other’s right to make decisions for themselves.   That is why I find myself standing with the people of Azad Jammu and Kashmir today.   Not because I oppose Pakistan.   But because I support Kashmir.   The public conversation has been reduced to “twelve seats,” as though the protesters have suddenly developed an irrational dislike for a number.   They haven’t.   This has never been about twelve seats.   It is about who gets to decide the political future of Azad Jammu and Kashmir.   For those unfamiliar with the issue, the Legislative Assembly of Azad Jammu and Kashmir consists of forty-five directly elected seats. Twelve additional seats are reserved for refugees from Indian-occupied Jammu and Kashmir who now reside in Pakistan.   On paper, the idea is understandable. Pakistan’s position has always been that the people displaced from their homes remain Kashmiris and should not lose their political voice merely because conflict forced them across the border.   No reasonable person would dispute that displaced Kashmiris deserve representation.   But representation is one thing.   Control is another.   Of those twelve refugee constituencies, nine are elected from Punjab and three from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. In practical terms, this means that more than a quarter of the directly elected Assembly is chosen by voters living outside Azad Jammu and Kashmir.   The question almost asks itself.   How can the government of a people be decided, in such significant part, by those who do not live under its administration?   Imagine if overseas Pakistanis not only voted in Pakistan’s general elections, but their constituencies alone regularly decided who became Prime Minister. Imagine if governments in Lahore or Karachi depended upon votes cast by people who did not live there. We would immediately recognise the democratic tension.   So why is it unreasonable for Kashmiris to ask the very same question?   Supporting that question does not weaken Pakistan’s position on Kashmir.   If anything, it strengthens it.   For decades, Pakistan has argued before the international community that Kashmiris possess the right to determine their own political future. Self-determination has been the moral foundation of our case.   That principle cannot stop at the Line of Control.   If we genuinely believe Kashmir belongs to the Kashmiris, then we must also believe that Kashmiris deserve the greatest possible ownership over their own democratic institutions.   Yet the debate does not end there.   Many voices now demand the immediate abolition of the refugee seats.   The law, however, is more complicated than the slogans.   In June 2026, the Supreme Court of Azad Jammu and Kashmir reaffirmed that these seats are entrenched within Article 22 of the Interim Constitution. The Court described any alteration to the Assembly’s composition as a solemn constitutional act, not something to be extracted through political pressure. Moreover, Article 33 requires prior approval from the Government of Pakistan before amendments affecting core constitutional structures may even be introduced in the Assembly.   And perhaps that raises an even bigger question than the twelve seats themselves.   Why should a legislature elected by the people of Azad Jammu and Kashmir require Islamabad’s permission before debating changes to its own constitutional structure?   If our answer is that Pakistan has always stood by Kashmir, then I ask another question.   Since when has standing beside someone entitled us to stand over them?   Brotherhood is not guardianship.   Solidarity is not supervision.   Support is not control.   Pakistan has sacrificed diplomatically, politically and morally for the Kashmiri cause. That history deserves recognition. But history cannot become a perpetual licence to decide what is best for Kashmiris without listening to Kashmiris themselves.   The protests are not asking Pakistan to abandon Kashmir.   They are asking Pakistan to trust Kashmir.   Those are two very different things.   Whether the present constitutional arrangement ultimately changes is a matter for constitutional process, not street pressure. But constitutional process should never become an excuse to avoid constitutional questions.   The protesters have asked one.   It deserves an answer.   Because this was never about twelve seats.   It was always about whether we truly believe that the future of Kashmir should be written by Kashmiris themselves.

Foreign funding. Say those two words anywhere in Pakistan and watch the room go quiet. Say them in India this week and watch a whole government minister lose his job. Funny how the same phrase behaves so differently depending on which side of the border it lands on. Let us start with what happened in Delhi. Young people gathered under the banner of the Cockroach Janta Party. They protested against paper leaks in the NEET medical entrance exam. Police used batons. Some Indian voices claimed the protest was foreign funded, blaming Pakistan and mysterious outside money. Delhi police blocked hundreds of social media accounts linked to Pakistan, saying they were spreading a misleading campaign. A court petition even asked for an investigation into whether the protest was part of a larger foreign conspiracy. The protesters denied all of it. They said the movement began with more than two million students whose futures were shaken by exam irregularities. Political analysts backed them up too, saying the foreign conspiracy story gets pulled out every time young Indians get loud, whether it was the farmers’ movement or the citizenship law protests. This time the story did not stick. Even people inside the ruling party joined the protest, so the usual blame game lost its bite. Now bring the mirror to Pakistan. Here too, foreign funding is the favourite accusation of anyone who wants a protest silenced without answering its actual questions. And here, a special category exists. Indian funding and Jewish funding are treated like radioactive material. Mention either one, proven or not, and the conversation stops being about exam leaks or student rights and becomes about loyalty and conspiracy instead. It is a convenient trick. It lets institutions avoid explaining themselves. So here is the honest question worth sitting with. Where are our own protests? Cambridge examination papers, the ones sat by thousands of O and A Level students across Pakistan, have leaked multiple times in recent memory. Multiple times. Not once, not by accident, but repeatedly. And what followed? No sustained protest. No serious public inquiry that anyone can point to. No Jantar Mantar moment. Students who spent months preparing, whose merit and hard work were undercut by a leaked paper, largely absorbed the unfairness and moved on. Compare that to young Indians who stayed on the streets for ten straight days facing tear gas until a minister resigned. Then there is the PMDC advertisement mess, freshly reported by Minute Mirror. The Pakistan Medical and Dental Council published a public notice meant to guide students planning to study medicine abroad. Instead of guiding them, it confused them. The wording suggested that every Pakistani student headed abroad, even to Harvard or Cambridge, needed to clear the MDCAT exam first. Senator Anusha Rahman raised the alarm in a Senate committee meeting, pointing out that thousands of students aiming for universities in the UK, US, Canada and Australia were left anxious over a rule that turned out not to apply to them the way the advertisement implied. The PMDC president eventually admitted the wording needed review, and that the requirement was actually meant only for specific cases involving certain university rankings or flagged countries. A body meant to protect students ended up frightening them through careless drafting. And still, no march. No sit-in. No sustained public pressure demanding accountability for a mistake that could have derailed real academic plans. Indian students proved something important this week. Persistent, peaceful pressure can still move a government, even one that prefers to change the subject with conspiracy theories. Pakistani students have every reason to ask themselves why similar failures at home, paper leaks, unclear MDCAT policy, confusing regulatory advertisements, are met with silence instead of the same organised anger.

In the shadowed epochs before the dawn of Islam, the affairs of mankind were beset by profound confusion and moral clutter. The pursuit of ethical values, the recognition of basic human rights, the establishment of social equality, and the fair administration of justice remained fragmented ideals, often trampled beneath tyranny, tribal feuds, and unchecked passions. It fell to the boundless mercy of Almighty Allah to illuminate this darkness through His divine word, the Holy Quran, which brought order, harmony, and clarity to the chaos of human existence. The Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, the final Messenger and Seal of the Prophets, then embodied these heavenly injunctions in his blessed life and teachings, translating sacred principles into living practice for all generations to follow. As centuries unfolded, new challenges and complexities inevitably emerged within Muslim societies. These were met not by innovation detached from revelation, but through the profound insight and disciplined wisdom of the rightly guided Imams and classical Islamic scholars. Their verdicts and interpretations remained ever subordinate in spirit and letter to the Quran and the authentic Sunnah, ensuring fidelity to the original divine sources. In this rich tradition, the requirements of an Islamic state were meticulously outlined; the conduct of government, the promotion of public welfare, the organisation of society, and the solemn duties of jihad. Even the refined manners of warfare received explicit attention, together with the strict conditions and ethical boundaries that must govern any legitimate striving in Allah’s cause. Thus, faith offered comprehensive guidance for both peace and peril. Regrettably, in our own turbulent times, certain elements have invoked the noble name of Islam to perpetrate acts that the Quran and Sunnah utterly repudiate. Prominent among these forbidden paths is khuruj – armed rebellion against legitimate state authority – a violation that the classical scholarly tradition of Islam has condemned with one voice across fourteen centuries as a source of fitnah and grave sin. In Pakistan, extremist factions deliberately distort this consensus to legitimise their campaigns of insurgency and terror. Yet the evidence stands irrefutable; upholding constituted authority remains a binding religious obligation upon every Muslim citizen. The Holy Quran commands with unmistakable clarity: “Obey Allah, obey the Messenger, and those in authority among you.” No scholarly interpretation grants sanction to armed revolt against Pakistan’s institutions. The Prophet, peace be upon him, cautioned that whoever withdraws from the community even by a handspan and dies in that state departs in the death of ignorance. Ibn Taymiyyah, frequently misquoted by militants, in fact affirmed that prolonged rule by an imperfect leader is preferable to anarchy, and he rejected rebellion outright. Imam al-Nawawi and Imam al-Ghazali similarly warned that the cure of insurrection proves worse than the ailment of injustice it claims to heal. The Prophet likened rightful leadership to a shield behind which the people are protected; Pakistan’s security forces fulfil this sacred role today, rendering support for them not merely civic duty but an act of profound religious obedience. Grievances, the Quran directs, must be channelled through lawful avenues – through courts, scholarly counsel, and reasoned advocacy – never through the chaos of the sword. Even in the face of oppression, the Prophet instructed believers to render due rights to authorities while petitioning Allah for their own. The exemplary patience of Imam Ahmad ibn Hanbal, who suffered imprisonment under political duress yet never summoned revolt, offers Muslims an enduring model of principled forbearance. Pakistan’s Constitution, itself rooted in Islamic ideals of justice and shura (mutual consultation), provides ample mechanisms for accountability and reform. Democratic participation and legal engagement thus constitute the Islamically sanctioned road to national betterment. At the heart of this guidance shines the Seerah of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, as the consummate model of wasatiyyah – the divinely ordained path of moderation, mercy, and balance. He declared, “I was sent as a mercy to all of mankind,” establishing that his mission was never one of bloodshed or domination but of compassion and upliftment. Upon the conquest of Makkah, he forgave his bitterest enemies with magnanimity, proclaiming that no reproach would cling to them. This act of clemency remains the authentic Sunnah, bearing no resemblance to the violence extremists perpetrate in his name. The Quran defines the Muslim Ummah as “a middle nation,” chosen for equity and temperance. The Prophet protected the lives, property, and dignity of non-Muslims under covenant, warning that he would be their opponent on the Day of Judgment if they were wronged. He commanded kindness and justice toward those who had not waged war against the faith, visited the sick among other communities, reasoned gently with adversaries, and consistently preferred peace when it could be honourably secured. “Make things easy and do not make them difficult,” he counselled, rejecting the harsh extremism that burdens societies. True jihad, as he taught upon returning from the battlefield, begins with the greater struggle against one’s own soul – an internal discipline that terrorism utterly betrays. Pakistan was founded upon this prophetic ethos of justice, tolerance, and inclusive citizenship. In steadfastly defending its institutions against those who would fracture communal peace, its people engage in a service honoured by the divine. The Quran promises that Allah stands with the patient and the persevering. The path of rebellion leads only to greater discord and spiritual ruin, while the way of the Prophet calls believers to mercy, lawful order, justice for all citizens regardless of faith, and unwavering commitment to the welfare of the nation. In this balanced, compassionate, and principled course lies the true flourishing of Pakistan and the enduring honour of the Muslim Ummah.

Stockholm Resilience Centre defines resilience as the capacity of a system to deal with change and continue to develop. System can be an individual, a forest, a city or an economy. In simple words, resilience refers to the ability of an ecosystem to deal with disturbances and returns to its former state. When it comes to water resource management in Pakistan, unfortunately, we are not managing our water resource as sustainably as we should. WWF Pakistan points out a robust difference in water consumption between communities in Pakistan. Those who can afford uses 10 times more water than global average that stands at 10 gallons a day. On the contrary, poor lacks access to water in Pakistan. How sad it is that there exist two different water realities in Pakistan. On one hand, we have people that uses 100 gallons of water each day. On the other hand, we have masses that don’t even have access to water. We must put an end to existing water inequality in Pakistan. Water forms the backbone of our society and economy and without sustainable water management practices in place, we can neither have socially equitable society nor can we achieve sustainable economic growth for Pakistan. We must ensure that each person in Pakistan should have access to clean water regardless of geographical location and financial resources at disposal. If we really want to achieve Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) for Pakistan, we must end water inequality in Pakistan. An access to clean water is a basic human right and thus it should be available to all in the country. It is important to mention here that each of the 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) is strongly coupled with how we manage water as a natural resource. If we mange water wisely (with tomorrow in mind), we can easily achieve all 17 SDGs for Pakistan. However, an unsustainable water resource management will act as Achilles heel and prevent us in realizing Sustainable Development Goals. We certainly need a paradigm shift in managing water as a resource in Pakistan. Ministry of Planning, Development and Special Initiatives (Government of Pakistan) highlights that at the time of independence, per capita water availability in Pakistan was over 5000 cubic meters each year. Unfortunately, today, per capita water availability in Pakistan is sharply reduced to roughly 1000 cubic meters per person each year. In other words, each person in Pakistan now only has 1/5 of the water available every year, when compared to 1947 (at the time of independence). Public policy makers in Pakistan must tackle decreasing per capita water availability in Pakistan with utmost seriousness and do all it takes to tackle it in the most sustainable manner. Before we head on to solutions, we must understand the root causes of decreasing per capita water availability in Pakistan. According to Australian Centre for International Agricultural Research (ACIAR), population in Pakistan has increased 7-fold since independence in 1947. Naturally, when we distribute the same amount of water we have each year on 7 times more population, the per capita water availability in Pakistan would then sharply reduce. ACIAR then stresses on the fact that irrigated agriculture in Pakistan consumes 95% of surface water supply in the country. Another report from Pakistan Council of Research in Water Resources (PCRWR) highlights that irrigated agriculture consumes 93% of the available water resource and acts as the single largest sector of economy employing 44% of the labour force, generating 60% of the foreign exchange earnings and produces roughly a quarter of Pakistan’s gross domestic product (GDP). The already spoken report from PCRWR then points out that Pakistan waste 60% of water from canals to farm gates. Do you know that per capita water storage ability of Pakistan is roughly 159 m3? On the contrary, the per-capita water storage ability of USA and Australia is over 5000m3, followed by China with a per-capita water storage ability of 2200m3, Egypt 2362 m3, Turkey 1402 m3 and Iran with 492m3. PCRWR further indicates that inadequate water storage ability has forced Pakistan to lose 120 BCM of water during floods of 2010, 2012 and 2014. If Pakistan had ample surface water storage infrastructure in place, it could had saved at least half of 120 BCM of surface water that could then be used to increase per-capita water availability in the country. The remaining 60 BCM of floodwater could restore Indus River Delta where many species are fighting for their survival due to reduced river flow. There is a dire need for Pakistan to build small, medium and large dams to store surface water. Doing so, will increase surface water availability on year-round basis, decrease flood related damage to agricultural lands and infrastructure, increase per-capita water availability, reduce reliance on underground water, recharge aquifers and mitigate their depletion. We have what it takes to build a series of small, medium and large dams in Pakistan to harvest floodwater during monsoon season. Do you know that 1 billion cubic meters of water has 1 trillion litres of water? Now imagine, if 50 litres of water cost 1 USD, the price tag of 1 billion cubic meters (or 1 trillion litres) of water would be 20 billion USD. Thus, a cumulative cost for 60 BCM of floodwater would roughly be USD 1200 billion. Now, if we would sharply reduce the already spoken figure to its one-tenth, the cost would still be a whooping USD 120 billion for 60 BCM of floodwater. We must understand that this is just the price of water. It is crucial to mention here that water forms the basis of all sorts of social and economic development, and we must learn to manage water sustainably to ensure a resilient Pakistan for all. We must invest heavily in constructing dams of all sizes to increase surface water availability and to enhance per-capita water in Pakistan. Here is an example. Do you know that Sweden has roughly 10,000 dams to manage surface water. It is quite simple, the

Patriotism is not a loud noise that we hear only on the 14th of August. It is not only flags on the streets, or songs on television, or speeches in big grounds. Real patriotism is a quiet light that burns in the heart of a common man, every single day. It lives in the way we treat our country when no one is watching. It lives in the small choices we make from morning till night. Pakistan was not given to us as a gift. It was bought with blood, with tears, with the prayers of mothers and the sacrifices of fathers. Millions left their homes. Millions never returned. Today, the debt of that sacrifice is on us. And how do we pay that debt? Not always with great battles. Often, we pay it with small, honest, and consistent acts. Look around you. When a young boy in Lahore gets up early and sweeps the street in front of his house without waiting for anyone to tell him, that is patriotism. When a shopkeeper in Karachi refuses to sell expired medicine to a poor child, even when he could earn more, that is patriotism. When a teacher in Peshawar stays for ten extra minutes to explain one more sum to a weak student, that is patriotism. When a driver in Islamabad stops at the red light at 2 AM when the roads are empty, that is patriotism. The world may not clap for them. Cameras may not follow them. But Allah sees. And the nation grows stronger because of them. Consider our daily life. We waste water while brushing our teeth. We throw plastic on the road and then complain that the drains are blocked. We break the queue and then blame the system for being corrupt. But a true patriot asks a different question. He asks, “What can I do today?” He turns off the extra fan. He plants one tree in his street. He picks up one wrapper and puts it in the dustbin. One person doing this means nothing. But when two hundred and forty million people do this, rivers become clean, cities become beautiful, and the government saves billions that can go to schools and hospitals instead of cleaning our mess. Now look at our work. A nation is built in offices, in fields, in factories, and in classrooms. The doctor who treats every patient with the same care, whether he is rich or poor, is serving Pakistan. The engineer who builds a bridge that does not fall for fifty years is serving Pakistan. The farmer who works under the hot sun of Punjab and Sindh to grow wheat so that no child sleeps hungry is serving Pakistan. The coder in Lahore who earns dollars from clients abroad and brings that money back to Pakistan is serving Pakistan. Even the mother at home who raises her children with honesty and faith is serving Pakistan. These are not small jobs. These are the pillars of a nation. In today’s world, patriotism also lives on our phones. Every day we forward messages. Every day we post something. A patriot thinks before he types. He does not spread hate between provinces. He does not share a lie to get more likes. He speaks about Pakistan with pride, even when he is criticizing to improve. When a Pakistani student sits in London or Dubai and works hard and follows the law, he becomes the face of Pakistan. When he helps a stranger and says “I am from Pakistan” with his head high, he wins respect for all of us. We are a nation of diversity. We speak different languages. We wear different clothes. We eat different food. But we share one sky, one land, and one flag. True patriotism is when a Baloch, a Sindhi, a Punjabi, a Pashtun, and a Kashmiri sit at one table and say “We are Pakistani first.” It is when during floods, people from Gilgit send donations to people in Thar. No one asks your caste. No one asks your sect. We only ask, “How can we help?” That is the Pakistan of Quaid-e-Azam. That is the Pakistan we must protect. And what about our land? Our rivers, our mountains, our air? To harm them is to harm Pakistan. The patriot plants a tree. The patriot says no to plastic. The patriot keeps his mosque, his school, and his park clean. Because a dirty nation can never be a great nation. Dear readers, let us be clear. We do not need to do everything. But we must do something. Every day. Faith, Unity, Discipline. These were not just three words. They were a plan. Faith in Allah and in ourselves. Unity with each other despite our differences. And Discipline in our small, daily actions. Do not wait for a hero to come and fix everything. You are the hero. In your home. In your street. In your office. On 14th August we celebrate. But on 15th August, and 16th August, and every day after that, we must build. With honesty. With hard work. With love. Because nations are not built by what we say in one day. Nations are built by what we do in three hundred and sixty-five days.

(When the water rises, who shows up and who is left waiting?) ‎I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. When the water rises in Muskingum County or the Punjab plains, who shows up, and who is left waiting? I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. ‎ ‎My mother and brother still live right near South Zanesville, just a stone’s throw from Crooksville. When heavy rains hit Perry and Muskingum counties, I don’t need to be there to know what it looks like. I can picture the heavy, chocolate-brown water backing up into the low spots, the damp chill that settles into a basement, the fears of what if the waters reach a house trailer, and that specific, exhausting smell of river mud that takes weeks to scrub out of porch boards and carpet. The worries of if the home has structural damage.. Halfway across the world in Pakistan, the landscape couldn’t look more different. But when monsoon season swells the rivers across the Punjab, the view from the ground is hauntingly identical. ‎ ‎Standing in a flooded doorway feels the same whether you are in Ohio or Lahore. The quiet shock is the same. The ruin of things you worked years to buy is the same. And the very first instinct is to grab your coat, shovel, a chainsaw and a pair of boots and go check on the elderly woman next door.. Start hauling wet furniture, debris to the curb and giving comfort, food and basics to those in need is entirely universal. Watching both worlds at once makes you look at governance differently. It strips away abstract political jargon and leaves you asking one fundamental question: When a community is hit with a crisis, does its system build capable people who can act, or does it leave them sitting on their hands, waiting for permission to survive? ‎ ‎What a Small Ohio Village Taught Me About Governance ‎ ‎Growing up around South Zanesville and Crooksville, you learn pretty early that small-town life relies on a very specific kind of quiet, distributed agency. ‎Crooksville isn’t a rich town. It’s a hard-working Appalachian village of under 1,500 people. But when the creek overflows, nobody sits around waiting for a press conference out of Washington, D.C., or a mandate from the state capital in Columbus. ‎ ‎The response moves in waves because the connections are already wired: ‎On the local levels we see neighbor checks on neighbor. The volunteer fire department turns on the sirens, pulls out the high-water gear, and starts the door to door knocks. At the County level we have the Perry County 911 dispatch and Emergency Management Agency (EMA) start tracking water levels and routing equipment where it’s needed most. At the State level, If the county gets overwhelmed, pre set legal triggers immediately call in the Ohio EMA or the National Guard. ‎ ‎Government here doesn’t replace the community’s instinct to help itself; it validates it, organizes it, and backs it up with real resources. The system trusts the people on the ground to know their own roads. Here in Pakistan, the human spirit is just as generous, if not more so. The impulse toward hospitality, neighborly charity, and mutual support runs incredibly deep. When disaster strikes, ordinary citizens open their wallets and their homes without a second thought. It’s just what they do… ‎ ‎And Pakistan’s has one of the world’s top class military engineering, a massive national disaster agency (the NDMA), and incredible private charities. The raw capacity is immense. Yet, too often, there is a however a very heartbreaking disconnect between that high-level power and the family standing in ankle deep water in a local neighborhood. An ordinary citizen here once described the country to me using a metaphor I’ve never forgotten: a child that was never allowed to stand on its own feet. An infant isn’t helpless because it lacks potential. It’s helpless because it hasn’t been given the space to build muscle, fall over, adjust its balance, and try again. If an authority figure picks the child up every single time it tries to pull itself up, the child never learns to walk—not from a lack of ability, but because the environment denied it the chance to build strength. ‎ ‎That is how systemic learned dependency takes root: Central authorities assume total control, bypassing local municipal councils. Neighborhoods are given no real budget or authority to fix their own drainage or organize local response teams. And when a flood comes, citizens have no choice but to wait for distant, top-down relief. The authorities look at the waiting crowd and say, “See? The people can’t manage without us.” ‎We witness power centralized even further, deepening the exact helplessness it claims to fix. Over generations, people adapt to the system they are given. If a system rewards waiting for a political patron, people learn to wait for patrons. If it rewards local initiative, communities build habits of self-reliance. It is very easy to blame culture or public apathy for civic passivity, but that misses the point entirely. Culture simply reflects the structural incentives people are given to survive and adapt. It is nature vs nurture and we have a break down when these two things fail to promote a cohesiveness and inclusion of what is a community and what that actually means. ‎ ‎Across the globe, the relationship between state control and citizen participation varies wildly, proving that central authority does not have to mean public powerlessness. In China, a deeply centralized state framework actively structures and expects local neighborhood committees and civil volunteer groups to manage community-level crises. Across much of Europe, comprehensive state safety nets exist alongside highly empowered municipal councils and professionalized local volunteer forces.