By: Hira A. Malik
What is the true purpose of a state? The 14th-century thinker Ibn Khaldun defined it as an institution that curbs injustice, upholds the rule of law, and builds a system rooted in equality, dignity, and freedom. A state exists to serve its people — to ensure their basic needs are met, to provide opportunity, and to safeguard their rights. At its core, good governance must be people-centric, fair, and committed to justice.
This is precisely what Pakistan was meant to be. Our founding father, Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah, envisioned a nation built on social justice, a welfare economy, and inclusive governance anchored in Islamic principles. It was a vision of peace, dignity, and democracy. Jinnah believed — rightly — that the legitimacy of our state depended on our ability to deliver fair governance.
Yet somewhere along the way, we lost that path.
After Jinnah’s death, his vision was swiftly abandoned. Power struggles consumed the ruling elite, and the people were denied their right to choose their leaders. The bureaucracy asserted control early on — most notably in 1955, when Ghulam Muhammad dissolved the assembly, silencing the voice of the people and setting the stage for martial law. That moment marked a deep betrayal of the ideals Pakistan was built on.
Instead of developing a homegrown system of governance, Pakistan became a playground for imported political experiments. Our leaders borrowed models from the West without understanding or adapting them. We tried liberal economics without liberal democracy. We flirted with socialism, but handed the reins to feudal lords and billionaires. Islam — meant to be a guiding force for justice — was reduced to a political tool, used to manipulate rather than unite.
Over time, the system was captured by an elite minority. This small group enjoys privileges bankrolled by ordinary citizens, yet contributes little to the common good. Even retirement offers no end to their influence: lucrative “post-retirement parking” in cushy jobs and consultancies keeps them comfortably in power, well beyond their official service.
Worse, this elite class has now institutionalised favouritism. Merit has been sidelined. The system isn’t just captured anymore — it’s exploited. And in this blame game, where politicians point fingers at the military, and military rulers accuse politicians, no one offers real solutions.
Our governance has become exclusionary at every level. Education, once seen as the great equaliser, now deepens inequality. Despite constitutional promises of free education (Articles 25-A and 37-B), the state has failed to deliver. Public schools have crumbled from neglect, while private institutions — many following foreign curricula — have flourished. Today, nearly 44% of students are in private schools. Middle-class families strain to afford them, while the elite send their children abroad or to elite private academies. Meanwhile, policymakers remain indifferent because their own children aren’t affected.
This educational divide weakens the nation’s fabric. It blocks social mobility and denies opportunity to millions. The job market follows the same pattern. High-paying jobs go not to the most qualified, but to those with the right connections. Nepotism and bribery thrive. Public university graduates are dismissed as second-rate, while doors open easily for those from private universities or elite families. Retired officials — local and international — use their networks to secure plum jobs and consulting gigs, further squeezing out deserving young professionals.
Many of these “visionary consultants” are the same individuals who achieved little during their own tenures. Yet after retirement, they reinvent themselves as saviours — for a fee, of course. If their motives were truly selfless, wouldn’t they work pro bono?
This culture has given rise to a troubling trend: officials who build their post-retirement careers while still in office. They use government roles to collect credentials, form connections, and position themselves for future consultancies. It’s a system that rewards exploitation and sidelines the very citizens the state was supposed to empower.
Where do we go from here?
We must begin by restoring the people’s rightful role in decision-making. Pakistan was not meant to be a government that rules over its people — it was meant to be a collective promise to its people. That promise has been broken. It’s time to renew it. Only through genuine inclusivity, merit-based opportunity, and fair governance can we hope to build the Pakistan Jinnah dreamed of.
