Young People Are Not the Future, They Are the Pres…

The poor nation has been treated like a naïve fool—or like a buffalo standing idly in Anarkali Bazaar, merely watching the spectacle—while the only person truly entitled to everything has been the one holding the stick. In such circumstances, lamenting that “our system has collapsed” amounts to nothing more than crocodile tears. May one dare ask these distinguished representatives of power: who is the greatest beneficiary of this collapsed system today? Surely, it is not that poor, powerless figure who constitutionally occupies the office of Prime Minister but is widely perceived as nothing more than a flatterer, a “Cherry Blossom,” or a bootlicker. Even the authority to reprimand one of his own unruly cabinet ministers has been taken away from him. Before the real power brokers, the poor man has no option except to bow or prostrate himself in deference. Yet even this symbolic arrangement seems intolerable to those who wield the stick. They ask: Why should this weak individual even occupy this ceremonial chair? If we are the real source of power, why are these sheep and goats sitting here at all? And who does the Eighteenth Constitutional Amendment think it is, making us dependent upon these provincial “sheep and goats”? If we require funds for “protecting the people,” why should we have to seek the approval of these so-called political parties? Why not simply dismantle the provinces, divide them into thirty pieces, and grind them down, just as our revered elder, the “true believer” of the Zia era, once envisioned—that politicians would come crawling to lick our feet with their tails tucked between their legs? But these are not our real issues, despite the crocodile tears now being shed over them. The system has produced poverty, unemployment, despair among the youth, and unbearable inflation. Our country is being humiliated across the world. The begging bowl has become our national symbol. Even our Prime Minister has admitted that whenever leaders of friendly countries see us, they think, “Here comes the beggar.” Our young people, exhausted by poverty and hunger, want nothing more than to leave this country. Many die while attempting the dangerous Dunki route to Europe, drowning in overcrowded boats. Is there any system here that offers them hope? You criticize the distribution of laptops. Although laptops are a useful technology, today the world has advanced from artificial intelligence to cutting-edge digital technologies. Compare our condition with that of India. Where are the modern industries that can provide educated and capable young people with respectable jobs and salaries that match their abilities? When will our society become not only modern in agriculture but also genuinely industrial? All this has resulted in the destruction of democracy, lawlessness, the systematic killing of merit, inequality, oppression, and the transformation of the country into a breeding ground for crime. Bribery, favoritism, and nepotism are everywhere. Why has our country repeatedly experienced martial law? Why is there neither respect for nor supremacy of the law? Why has our Parliament become nothing more than a rubber stamp for the powerful? Why does our judiciary continue to place boots above the Constitution? To what extent has our society been destroyed because of this, and who is truly responsible? The absence and destruction of these values have killed the spirit of tolerance and coexistence in our society. They have nurtured the snakes of religious hatred and made it impossible for ordinary people to live with dignity. This oppressive approach has created and nurtured countless forms of extremism. It has robbed our younger generations of their emotions and independent thinking. What is taught in our religious seminaries in the name of sanctity, and the hatred propagated there, as well as the fanaticism promoted in modern educational institutions under the labels of Pakistan Studies, theology, and religious education, leaves little room for disagreement. Anyone expressing an alternative viewpoint faces severe restrictions. It is not only conservative society that reacts harshly; the country’s blasphemy laws also loom threateningly over dissent. In such an environment, how can freedom of expression and intellectual liberty flourish? In such suffocating conditions, where is the space for fresh and critical thinking? In a society eaten away like wood infested with termites, how can any humane system possibly develop? Much of our society’s religious intolerance is a direct consequence of this repression. Both our media and our educational curriculum have been damaged by this suffocating approach. Without freedom of expression, how can an effective system of accountability based on critical inquiry ever emerge? How can social, political, and religious bullying, superstition, and corruption within society ever be eliminated? It has turned not only the powerful into tyrants but even an ordinary clerk into a little Pharaoh. The more authority someone possesses, the more they begin to think of themselves as a god. This culture of oppression has hollowed out our society from within. Our Chief Minister seems to believe she is all-powerful. Not only Maryam Nawaz, but every member of her cabinet—men and women alike—behaves like a dragon, intimidating not only the public but even members of their own provincial assembly. As for the members of the assembly themselves, they appear to consider hardly anyone other than themselves to be worthy human beings. (To Be Continued)

It is widely believed that the more things change, the more they remain the same. For nations to stand on their own feet, the basics have to be covered; it is the lesson of history which must never be ignored. Steel has always been considered the basic building block of advancement. Pakistan started off well in producing its metals. In the decade of the sixties, the Kalabagh Iron deposit was upgraded by the German Krupp Wrenn process to be later converted into steel. Germans are known for thoroughness; they produced VW cars with the local metal. The powerful import lobby prevailed and the Pilot Plant was shut down. Precious time was lost. Finally, in the decade of the seventies the Soviet Union came to our help. The Pakistan Steel Mills project was started outside Karachi at Port Qasim. In the decade of the eighties Pakistan started producing its own steel based on imported ore and coal. The plan was to gradually replace the imported raw materials with the indigenous. At its peak the mill produced about 3 MTPY ( Million Tons per year ) against a national demand of 5 MTPY. Instead of increasing capacity, the plant was shut down in the year 2015. Coming from a family of technologists, I opted for Metallurgical Engineering. I wanted to join Pakistan Steel Mills ( PSM ) which was recruiting students for education and training in USSR. But instead, I landed in the USA where I completed my masters study from the College of Mines University of Arizona ( U of A ). Arizona was considered the world Copper Capital with several mines around. In the decade of the seventies an organization was established at the federal level called Resource Development Corporation ( RDC ) with its head office in Karachi while PUNJMIN ( Punjab Mineral Company ) covered Punjab where Kalabagh and Chiniot Iron deposits were located. It was RDC that launched the first Copper-Gold project at Saindak through its subsidiary SML ( Saindak Metals Limited ) in the year 1992. I was closely associated with this project as the bench studies were conducted in Tucson by a consulting firm by the name of MSME ( Mountain States Mineral Enterprise ). Till my master’s level, mining remained my focus. After graduating in 1981 when I returned in 1983 to start my doctoral program in Arizona, mining had been replaced by high-tech Silicon based Semiconductors. Research was focused on electronic materials. Silicon was produced from Silica Sand on which Integrated Circuits ( ICs ) were built. Metals like Aluminum, Titanium, Gold and Copper were being used. Then came the Solar Cells which Pakistan had produced in the decade of the seventies but missed opportunity due to lack of commercial linkages. While the Semiconductors and Solar batteries are in great demand, the material needs have increased manifold. Mining is back with a bang. Without basic raw materials, the technological advancements are not possible. I have gone full circle in my own career, and so have the technological advancements. From Steel to Copper, then Silicon based Semiconductors followed by mining and gasification of Coal. As a nation, we have missed several opportunities. Catch-up is possible through Leap-Frogging which is widely used by late entrants. China and India have adopted this approach effectively. The crusade should start with a Minerals Development roadmap. PMDC ( Pakistan Mineral Development Corporation ) and PUNJMIN can take the lead. Most of our mineral deposits remain un-tapped which can be developed to meet our needs. Self-sufficiency in Steel and Copper is achievable. Even lithium is available to produce batteries. Minerals are the basic building blocks of the nation which have been ignored. High grade Silica Sand is available in the north to produce Solar Cells and Semiconductors. India has made major investments in the high-tech Semiconductor sector. In the recently held Mining Conference in Karachi, it was agreed to expand the operations at Thar to meet our energy and fertilizer needs after gasification of the Black Gold. Basics have to be covered; advancement cannot be achieved through imports and borrowing. The party should finally come to an end for nation building to start.

As Pakistan prepares to celebrate another Independence Day, standard national rituals will once again take center stage. Flag-hoisting ceremonies, parades, and patriotic broadcasts will dominate the public square. Yet, nearly eight decades after gaining political freedom, a quiet but deeply uncomfortable question persists: can a nation truly consider itself sovereign if its collective mind remains dependent on the ideas, technologies, and scientific outputs of others? ​True independence has never been merely a matter of drawing borders, raising flags, or maintaining standing armies. History teaches a relentless lesson: physical sovereignty is only a shell. It requires intellectual and scientific self-reliance to give it genuine substance and endurance. Without a thriving culture of critical inquiry, rigorous research, and technological innovation, political freedom gradually degrades into a ceremonial phrase. ​Today, Pakistan faces a severe, structural crisis within its higher education system—one that poses a direct threat to its national sovereignty and economic survival. Not a single Pakistani university currently features among the top 200 or 300 institutions in major global academic rankings, such as QS or Times Higher Education. This is far more than an embarrassing statistic for university administrators. It is an alarm bell signaling deep vulnerabilities in national security, economic resilience, and the country’s collective capacity to navigate a complex world. ​We live in an era where global power and national influence are defined by knowledge economies, artificial intelligence, quantum computing, and rapid technological innovation. Meanwhile, Pakistan’s universities are collapsing under the combined weight of severe budget cuts, outdated curricula, heavy-handed bureaucratic interference, and deeply flawed research incentives. Unless our academic institutions move away from acting as simple credential-issuing factories and transform into centers of genuine learning and problem-solving, Pakistan’s economic and political sovereignty will remain precarious. A country that relies permanently on foreign intellect, imported technology, and international financial institutions to address its core domestic problems cannot claim to be truly self-reliant. ​This decline is not a matter of subjective opinion; it is confirmed by hard empirical evidence. Over 250 public and private universities operate across Pakistan, yet the state allocates a meager 0.24 to 0.28 percent of its Gross Domestic Product (GDP) to higher education. This represents a small fraction of the 2 percent minimum recommended by UNESCO for developing nations attempting to build sustainable economies. Regional peers made strategic investments in research and technology decades ago, turning their universities into powerful engines of industrial growth. In contrast, persistent funding cuts in Pakistan have left public-sector universities financially paralyzed, with many administrators openly struggling to pay staff pensions or procure basic laboratory chemicals and equipment. ​Even more damaging than the financial deficit is the systemic decay in research quality. While university faculty publish thousands of papers every year to meet promotion targets under the Tenure Track System, the vast majority of these publications carry little to no global impact or citation value. A desperate chase for publication numbers, driven by artificial metrics and a reliance on low-tier journals, has fostered a superficial academic culture disconnected from real-world application. Our university research rarely addresses the pressing structural challenges facing the nation, whether in climate adaptation, agricultural productivity, public health, water management, or industrial manufacturing. ​The most tragic consequence of this intellectual and institutional stagnation is the unprecedented wave of brain drain draining the nation’s potential. According to official emigration statistics, over two million educated and skilled young Pakistanis—including doctors, software engineers, data scientists, chemists, and academics—have left the country in recent years. They are not emigrating simply in pursuit of higher salaries; they are fleeing a system characterized by political nepotism, lack of merit, poor infrastructure, and a hostile environment for creative thought. When a state fails to retain its best minds, it surrenders its future. Universities continue to churn out hundreds of thousands of graduates annually, but a vast proportion remain unemployable because their education has failed to equip them with critical thinking skills or modern technological competencies. Without a functional, collaborative link between universities, local industry, and government policymakers—the classic Triple Helix model—talks of economic self-reliance remain empty political rhetoric. ​Reclaiming intellectual sovereignty requires a candid national assessment and decisive, structural policy changes. First, state funding for higher education must be incrementally raised to at least 1.5 percent of GDP over a defined roadmap. Crucially, at least half of these new funds should be explicitly ring-fenced away from brick-and-mortar civil construction and directed toward modernizing scientific laboratories, subscribing to international scientific databases, and establishing dedicated national centers for artificial intelligence, biotechnology, renewable energy, and cybersecurity. ​Second, university governance requires immediate, radical overhaul. The Higher Education Commission and individual university senates must be insulated from bureaucratic red tape and political appointments. Vice-Chancellors and senior academic leaders should be selected through transparent, merit-based international searches, prioritizing proven scientific achievement and visionary management over political connections or administrative seniority. ​Third, the criteria for evaluating faculty performance must be completely overhauled. The current practice of rewarding sheer publication volume should be replaced with a system that prioritizes research quality, international citations, industrial patents, technology transfers, and solutions that solve tangible domestic problems. ​Finally, Pakistan must systematically engage its vast academic diaspora. Rather than lamenting brain drain, the state should build a structured “Brain Gain” program. By offering competitive joint research grants, flexible digital teaching platforms, and adjunct faculty positions, Pakistan can enable its top scholars abroad to transfer cutting-edge global science back into domestic universities without requiring them to relocate permanently. ​Patriotism in the twenty-first century cannot be measured by emotional slogans, ceremonial rallies, or flag-hoisting displays. It requires building objective competence in science, technology, and critical thought. If our universities fail to become spaces of innovation, inquiry, and problem-solving, Pakistan will remain perpetually dependent on foreign aid, external loans, and imported knowledge. Modern national defense is built not only along physical borders, but within classrooms, research laboratories, and libraries. Reforming higher education is not a luxury or a secondary policy goal; it is the single most logical path toward securing a dignified, sovereign, and prosperous future for the nation.

Federal Minister for Planning Ahsan Iqbal announced that the government will place the National Flood Protection Plan IV before the Council of Common Interests for approval. The price tag is now Rs 700 billion. The same plan was approved by the CCI in 2017 at roughly half that amount. The minister was candid: the previous governments failed to implement it, and the 2022 floods forced a revision. Nearly a decade and a half after the plan was first conceived after the 2010 floods that devastated the country, we are back where we started, except the bill has grown by Rs 360 billion. But there is a problem with the numbers, and it is not a small one. In November 2025, Secretary Water Resources Syed Ali Murtaza testified before the Senate Standing Committee on Water Resources that NFPP-IV comprised 375 schemes with a total cost of Rs 824.493 billion. The provincial component alone stood at Rs 746.961 billion, while the federal share was only Rs 77.533 billion. He told the committee that provinces had refused to contribute their shares, escalating the matter to the CCI. Eight months later, the same plan is being presented at Rs 700 billion with a 50-50 federal-provincial split. The total has been trimmed by roughly Rs 124 billion despite inflation and rising cost of construction, and the provinces’ burden has been halved. A plan that shrinks by fifteen percent despite the increased costs and flips its cost-sharing formula in eight months is not rigorously costed. It is still being negotiated politically, not finalized technically. After the 2022 floods, international donors pledged $11 billion for reconstruction and flood protection. Three years later, Pakistan had utilized less than $3 billion. Finance Minister Muhammad Aurangzeb admitted that Pakistan failed to prepare a single credible, bankable project to access the funds. The money sat in files while the people sat in mud and water. It is one thing to lack funds. It is quite another to hold the funds and lack the institutional capacity to spend them. So when the government now asks for Rs 700 billion, the question is not whether we need the plan. We do. The question is whether we have earned the right to spend it, or are simply paying compound interest on a decade of negligence. In 2017, When the CCI approved the National Flood Protection Plan in 2017, the Punjab Assembly had already passed the Flood Plain Regulation Act of 2016. That Act designated flood plains, mandated annual surveys, prohibited all construction without written permission, and criminalized unauthorized building. Section 20 gave it overriding effect over all other laws. It was a good, careful law. And for ten years, we ignored it. Then came the 2022 floods, killing more than 1,700 and displacing 33 million. The 2023 Punjab Irrigation Act, strengthened the framework further. . Then came the Infrastructure Audit Programme of January 2026, promising to inspect and certify every embankment before the rains. The NDMA had warned in November 2025 that the 2026 monsoon would bring 22 to 26 percent above-normal rainfall. In May, Chairman Lt Gen Inam Haider Malik was briefed the Emergency Response Committee. The warnings were not classified. They were reported in media across the country. And still, on July 31, as the Sawan rains continue and Bhadoon approaches, we are told that a Rs 700 billion plan is about to be placed before the CCI. The human cost of this incompetence is measured in lives, not spreadsheets. Between June 26 and July 25, 2026, NDMA recorded 97 deaths and 297 injuries in rain-related incidents. House and roof collapses were the leading cause, with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa reporting the highest toll, followed by Punjab. The authority evacuated 3,841 people. These are not abstract figures. They are preventable losses and deaths in a country that had years to prepare. Meanwhile, last year’s federal budget slashed water sector allocations by 27 percent, from Rs 184.6 billion to Rs 133.4 billion for the water sector. Even the flagship Diamer-Basha Dam saw reduced priority. The message is clear: politically visible projects win funding; invisible embankments lose it. We are also building vulnerability into the landscape faster than we are building protection. The hundred-arch bridge near Shahdara was designed a century ago to let Ravi floodwater pass freely. In September 2025, the M5 motorway near Jalalpur Pirwala collapsed after the Sutlej River breached its banks, blocking natural channels with inadequate culverts. Modern infrastructure is failing where century-old engineering succeeded because hydrology is no longer part of the design brief. Every stakeholder knows what needs to be done. District officials know where encroachments choke flood channels. Engineers know where embankments need reinforcement. Satellite imagery can map floodplains with precision. Yet these tools are shelved while development authorities continue to approve new roads, schools and BHUs for permanent dwellings that should not have been there to begin with.  New high profile housing schemes are regularized in natural river basins. The National Water Policy, approved by the CCI in April 2018, promised real-time telemetry by the end of 2021 and a National Water Council chaired by the Prime Minister to meet annually. Seven years later, the Council has convened only once, in October 2018. The telemetry system is five years past its deadline. The unfinished cost of ongoing water schemes stands at approximately Rs 1.27 trillion. What would it take to believe this time will be different? Not more money. We have enough money to drown in. What we lack is accountability that lives on the riverbank. The Infrastructure Audit of 2026 must be opened to the public, if it was ever done. The names of every certifying officer who signed off on an embankment must be known, and if a structure fails, the officer must stand beside it and explain. And if not, we need to ask why not? The early warning system must learn to speak to the village, not the province. Alerts must name villages and localaties, expected water levels, and designated evacuation routes. They

Pakistan was achieved on the fourteenth of August in the year nineteen hundred and forty-seven, after sacrifices of a magnitude that still stir the soul and a struggle whose tirelessness remains an enduring lesson. Millions crossed borders in those turbulent months, leaving behind ancestral homes, familial graves, and the familiar soil of generations, so that a new homeland might rise where Muslims could live according to their faith and their free will. We stand now upon the threshold of the eighth decade of that hard-won independence. I, a Pakistani by birth and by conviction, have myself lived nearly fifty-eight years within the borders of this free land. This country conferred upon me an identity that no foreign power could erase, furnished me with the means of an independent existence—schools in which to learn, roads upon which to travel, markets in which to earn my bread—bestowed a measure of respect in the eyes of the world, and, in some degree, granted me a name among my fellows. Yet the question returns, quietly and persistently, like a debt long deferred; what have I given in return? Have I ever paused long enough, in the press of daily concerns, to weigh that debt with honesty? The same inquiry must be put, with equal seriousness and without partiality, to the institutions that were meant to serve as the pillars of the state, and to the rulers and authorities who have held power through these eighty years. What account can they render of their stewardship? Parliament was intended as the voice of the people; the courts as the guardians of justice; the civil service as the steady hand of administration; the universities as the nurseries of thought and character. Have these bodies discharged their duties with fidelity, or have they at times become arenas of personal ambition, partisan calculation, and the slow corrosion of public trust? The rulers who succeeded one another, whether civilian or military, received the same inheritance of soil, of people, and of hope. What have they added to the national store of justice, of prosperity, of self-respect, and of unity? The record is mixed, and the gaps are painful to contemplate. Have we, as a people, ever undertaken a true reckoning of our collective performance—not the ritual of speeches on national days, but a sober examination of conscience? And if such an accounting was made, did it lead to any genuine reformation of our ways, or did we merely resume the old habits once the anniversary had passed? Where, in truth, does Pakistan stand as a state at this present hour? We possess a land rich in rivers and fertile plains, a people endowed with resilience and talent, a strategic position that nature itself seems to have marked for consequence. Yet we continue to wrestle with the burdens of poverty that still touch too many homes, with the lingering shadows of disorder in parts of the country, with the uneasy balance between institutions that ought to complement one another, and with the persistent temptation to place private gain above the common good. Have we preserved, or have we frittered away, the sacred trust that our ancestors placed in our hands when they bequeathed us this country? That trust was not lightly given. It demanded vigilance against tyranny, honesty in public dealing, a willingness to educate the young in both knowledge and character, and a readiness to place the welfare of the whole above the advantage of the few. Looking back across the decades, one is compelled to ask whether that demand has been met in full measure. I do not exempt myself from this examination. For nearly six decades I have drawn from the well of national life—the protection of law, the opportunity to work and to speak, the simple privilege of calling myself a citizen of a free land. Have my contributions matched the gifts received? Have I laboured, in whatever sphere was allotted me, to strengthen rather than weaken the fabric of the republic? Have I spoken truth when silence was easier, practised fairness when partiality promised profit, and taught the rising generation that freedom is not a birthright to be consumed but a responsibility to be renewed? Honesty requires that each of us answer such questions in the solitude of his own heart, without the convenient shield of collective excuses or the comfortable habit of blaming those who came before. Enough, then, of evasion. The hour has come for every citizen, high or low, including the writer of these lines, to conduct a personal audit. Let each examine what he has taken and what he has returned. Let the institutions examine their fidelity to the purposes for which they were created. Let those who hold authority examine whether their decisions have served the enduring interests of the state or the fleeting interests of the moment. Only through such unsparing self-examination, followed by the hard work of reform, can the trust of the founders be renewed and the promise of Pakistan still be fulfilled for those who will inherit what we leave behind.