NATIONS are not always brought down by enemies from outside. Sometimes they weaken themselves from within: institutions are hollowed out, principles are sacrificed for expediency, personalities are placed above the law and then everyone asks: How did we get here? We were meant to build a system in which Parliament represented the people, the judiciary upheld justice, the military defended the country and the civil service served the state. More than seven decades later, many of these institutions still lack the stability and public trust that a durable state requires. There is no single cause and no single culprit. But one distinction is essential: responsibility may be shared, but power is not. The greater the authority, the greater the responsibility. Military interventions repeatedly disrupted democratic continuity. Constitutions were suspended and elected governments removed. Yet blaming the failure of democracy entirely on generals tells only part of the story. Military rulers found politicians and parties willing to work with them, while civilian politicians also sought support from unelected centres of power. A damaging rule took hold: if unconstitutional interference hurts us, it is dictatorship; if it helps us, it is expediency.
The judiciary cannot be exempt from this reckoning. A judge’s loyalty is to the Constitution, the law and justice, not to a government, party or an institution. Pakistan’s legal history includes decisions that were later questioned by the judiciary itself. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s trial was eventually found not to have met the standards of a fair trial, while military rule at other times received judicial cover. A judiciary that resists pressure, remains above politics and applies the same principles to friend and foe protects its independence through its own conduct. It is fair to ask whether greater confidence in judicial impartiality might have reduced the political space for changes such as the Twenty-Sixth and Twenty-Seventh Constitutional Amendments. The civil service faces a similar problem. When promotions and postings depend more on political favour than on competence, loyalty outranks merit. The media is hardly blameless. Journalism should question power and distinguish fact from opinion, yet parts of the media have behaved more like political advocates than independent observers. Social media has amplified misinformation and character assassination. Freedom of expression is essential, but its strongest defence is responsible journalism.
Then there is terrorism and extremism, which have scarred Pakistan for decades. Yet we still struggle to build a durable national consensus on their causes and on how they should ultimately be defeated. The roots of this crisis are complex and interconnected, including foreign intervention, the wars in Afghanistan, past state policies and the rise of religious and sectarian extremism. No single factor can explain a tragedy of this scale. Perhaps the most painful truth, however, is that even after paying such an enormous price, we have continued to politicize terrorism. After so much bloodshed, one principle should be beyond dispute: anyone who takes up arms against the state and society must be rejected, regardless of name, slogan or ideology. Force alone is not enough. Defeating extremism also requires justice, education, jobs, tolerance and effective law enforcement. Education and the economy reveal the same weakness. Millions of children remain out of school and where books lose their influence, slogans quickly gain power. Economically, we want taxation, but for someone else; accountability, but for our opponents; sacrifice, but from others. We speak of democracy while resisting meaningful local government. Yet for ordinary citizens, democracy is not merely Parliament; it is clean water, schools, hospitals and local institutions that can be held to account. So who is to blame: the military, politicians, judges, the bureaucracy, the media, religious leaders or the public?
The honest answer is that Pakistan’s failures cannot be placed on one institution while everyone else declares innocence. We are all part of this story, but we have never had equal power. Those who held greater authority must bear greater responsibility. When constitutional boundaries were crossed in favour of our side, many stayed silent. When our preferred politician abandoned a principle, we called it strategy. When a court ruling favoured us, we celebrated justice; when it did not, we questioned the institution. As Munir Niazi once suggested, the cruelty of others may be real, but so too may be our own part in walking towards ruin.
Those who violated the Constitution, gave unconstitutional acts legal cover, benefited from undemocratic arrangements, turned journalism into propaganda, used religion to spread hatred or ignored wrongdoing by their own side must all face the mirror. For too long, we have searched for saviours: in uniform, in political office, in judicial robes and in charismatic leaders. We keep expecting one person to do what only a functioning system can do. But nations are not saved by messiahs. They are sustained by strong principles, functioning institutions, constitutional supremacy, education, justice, responsible leadership and informed citizens. Perhaps it is time to stop asking, “Who will save us?” and start asking, “When will we build a Pakistan that no longer needs a saviour?” That journey begins by acknowledging our own failures and by making sure that, above all else, Pakistan wins.
—The writer is Barrister, based in Canada.
