IT is often said about Karachi that there are many roads leading into the city, but none that lead out.
During my recent visit to Lahore, I found this saying strangely true once again. We arrived in this city of grace on a Wednesday evening, planning to return by Friday night or Saturday morning — until we discovered that all routes were closed. The city was sealed; leaving was impossible. The night and the following day passed in anxious uncertainty. Karachi, too, once endured such trials. By God’s mercy, it eventually freed itself from that torment — but now Lahore seems caught in the same snare. Under the banner of faith and devotion, certain groups can paralyze an entire city at will. The years between 2011 and 2015 will long be remembered in Pakistan’s political history — not only for the deliberate effort to undermine the Charter of Democracy, but also for the emergence of Tehreek-e-Labbaik, which introduced a new and dangerous strain of extremism.
This intolerance is the legacy of that era. When these groups mobilize, neither their words nor their hands spare anyone. The blood of countless citizens and police officials stains their record. By seizing control of highways — the very arteries of the nation — they bring life to a halt. There are laws to deal with those who endanger public safety, but when such lawbreakers gain both political and religious patronage, the challenge deepens. This is the crisis of our time — one that spans both politics and religion. The forces that seek to destabilize the state through defiance of law must be confronted with prudence, not passion.
Why do certain religious and political elements abandon civility and embrace anarchy? This, perhaps, is the most urgent question of our age. Our political history may not be glorious, but it was once marked by a degree of grace. Religious scholars and political leaders, despite sharp differences, addressed each other with respect. When disagreements arose, dialogue and courtesy would dissolve conflict. But by 2014, that decorum had vanished. Painful and indecent remarks about rival sects — even about the sanctity of their call to prayer — were made openly.
Around the same time, Imran Khan’s prolonged sit-in led to the cancellation of President Xi Jinping’s planned visit to Pakistan. Khan refused to heed not only government but also disregarded the goodwill of China. When the visit was later rescheduled and President Xi addressed the joint session of Parliament, Khan and his party boycotted the event. In every civilized country, political rivals set aside differences during such historic moments to demonstrate national unity. Yet, the harshness displayed during that visit shocked observers across the world. The same spirit of defiance soon echoed in the behavior of certain newly organized religious groups.
Extremism in Pakistan had long been brewing — nurtured by the tensions and confrontations of the Cold War era. That division cost us dearly. But the wave of hostility that began in the second decade of the 21st century crossed every boundary. The difference was crucial: the earlier conflicts were between opposing factions, but the new confrontations targeted the state itself, weakening its very foundations. The recent Lahore–Muridke showdown was yet another repetition of this tragic pattern. To curb such lawlessness, the government resorted to administrative measures. Critics emerged from various quarters, yet the truth remains that no group can be allowed to challenge the writ of the state. When the PTI government had once acted against a militant group in Lahore, sane voices had supported it. Even now, despite the uproar on social media, the public has largely backed the government’s action — as shown by their refusal to join last Friday’s protest call.
This reveals a reassuring truth: even when a violent faction enjoys sectarian or political sympathy, public consciousness no longer validates it. The people have rejected those who defy the law — and that is a hopeful sign. Yet one essential task remains. We must ask why, whether in religion or politics, so many gather around individuals who neither understand faith nor politics and who disregard national purpose altogether. The answer lies in ignorance and the decay of political training. The nurseries that once nurtured civic and political culture — student unions, labour movements and local governments — have withered or disappeared. It is the responsibility of the state to revive these institutions within legal frameworks so that political workers become disciplined and civilized citizens rather than unruly agitators. Equally, the responsibility lies with society — with scholars, thinkers and religious institutions — to ensure that uneducated and reckless elements do not form mobs that harm faith and weaken the nation. There is also a third dimension: the powerful must resist the temptation to derail legitimate political activity for their own ends.
—This writer is former advisor to the President of Pakistan, author & mass media theorist.
(farooq.adilbhuta@gmail,com)
