“God does not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves.” Al-Qur’an, 13:11
Another 14 August is upon us. Green and white flags flutter from rooftops, patriotic songs fill the air, buildings illuminated and speeches once again remind us of the sacrifices that culminated in the birth of Pakistan. For a day, perhaps two, an otherwise deeply divided nation rediscovers the language of unity. This year, however, let us resist the familiar temptation to lament everything that has gone wrong.
There is enough to lament. Our political history has been turbulent, constitutionalism repeatedly interrupted, institutions weakened, economy perpetually struggling and millions continue to remain deprived of education, healthcare, clean water and opportunities worthy of human dignity. These realities cannot and should not be concealed beneath fluttering flags. We have discussed them endlessly.
Perhaps on Pakistan’s 79th Independence Day, we should ask a different question. Instead of asking what Pakistan has given us, what successive governments have denied us or what our rulers have done to this country, let us turn the mirror towards ourselves. What have we done to Pakistan? Political independence was achieved in August 1947, but independence is not merely the acquisition of territory, a flag, an anthem and international recognition. There is another form of freedom far more difficult to attain: liberation of the human being from greed, hatred, prejudice, dishonesty, intolerance, envy and the perpetual desire to blame someone else for one's predicament. Perhaps that struggle for independence remains unfinished.
For decades, Pakistanis have waited for saviours in all forms; civilian, military, judicial, economic and occasionally foreign saviours have appeared, promising to transform our destiny. Governments change, slogans change and faces change, yet many of our fundamental problems stubbornly survive. Perhaps we have been looking for transformation in the wrong place. A nation cannot rise permanently above the moral altitude of its citizens.
We demand honest rulers while routinely searching for ways to avoid our own obligations. We condemn corruption involving billions but readily use influence to secure an undeserved advantage. We demand rule of law until the law inconveniences us. We condemn tax evasion while celebrating ingenious ways of concealing income. We complain about disorder while violating traffic rules, throwing garbage on streets and encroaching upon public spaces. We demand merit for our children while seeking recommendations when merit fails them.
None of this absolves those governing the country. Power carries greater responsibility and public office demands accountability. But a corrupt society cannot manufacture incorruptible rulers indefinitely, just as an intolerant society cannot expect its institutions to remain islands of tolerance. Pakistan is not an abstract entity residing somewhere in Islamabad. Pakistan is us.
So, the most dangerous poverty confronting any nation is therefore not necessarily material poverty. It is poverty of imagination; the inability to believe that tomorrow can be different from today.
It is the teacher who enters a classroom determined that every child should learn. It is the doctor who treats a poor patient with the same dignity afforded to the wealthy. It is the shopkeeper who refuses to adulterate food although doing so would increase his profit. It is the employer who pays workers fairly, the civil servant who refuses a bribe, the taxpayer who declares truthfully, the motorist who stops at a red light when no policeman is watching and the citizens who protect trees whose shade may benefit someone they will never meet.
Perhaps this is where patriotism acquires a spiritual dimension. Muhammad Iqbal's conception of khudi was never an invitation to arrogance or self-glorification. It represented the awakening and development of the self: an individual conscious of dignity, responsibility and purpose. Nations composed of such individuals do not require constant policing because conscience performs much of the work that law otherwise struggles to accomplish.
We frequently speak about changing Pakistan. Perhaps Pakistan will begin changing when Pakistanis begin changing themselves. That proposition should not be mistaken for naïve optimism. Nor does it suggest that institutional reform, constitutional governance, economic justice and accountability are unnecessary. They are indispensable. But institutions ultimately reflect the human beings who operate them.
Laws can prohibit corruption; they cannot manufacture integrity. Constitutions can guarantee equality; they cannot compel human beings to respect one another. Courts can punish wrongdoing; they cannot legislate compassion. Character remains beyond the reach of legislation. And herein lies reason for hope. Amid our dysfunction, Pakistan continues to produce extraordinary examples of ordinary goodness. Whenever floods, earthquakes or other calamities strike, strangers feed strangers. Volunteers travel hundreds of kilometres carrying medicines and supplies.
Families with modest incomes support relatives, employees and neighbours. Philanthropic hospitals treat people unable to pay. Individuals quietly finance children's education without ever appearing before a camera. This Pakistan rarely dominates television screens because goodness makes poor breaking news. Yet it exists.
Perhaps we have spent so much time examining our failures that we have forgotten to recognise our capacity for renewal. A country is ultimately an idea sustained by people. Buildings can be reconstructed, economies revived and institutions reformed if human beings possess the will to do so. The most dangerous poverty confronting any nation is therefore not necessarily material poverty. It is poverty of imagination—the inability to believe that tomorrow can be different from today.
Pakistan is still young in the lifespan of nations. Seventy-nine years may appear long to an individual, but history measures national evolution in centuries. Countries now regarded as stable and prosperous have travelled through civil wars, authoritarianism, economic collapse, social upheaval and profound injustice before constructing stronger institutions. Our past need not become our destiny but neither will destiny change merely because it is our wish.
Spiritual elevation does not mean withdrawing from worldly responsibilities. Quite the contrary. It means recognising that every action carries consequences beyond oneself. Honesty becomes patriotism as does compassion or paying taxes or protecting public property or respecting someone whose religion, ethnicity, gender or opinion differs from ours. Perhaps we need fewer proclamations of love for Pakistan and more quiet evidence of it.
On this Independence Day, let the flags fly. Let children sing the songs we ourselves sang decades ago. Let us remember those who left homes, crossed borders, lost loved ones and began life again because they believed that a new country offered the possibility of a better future but remembrance alone is insufficient. The 1947 generation achieved geographical freedom and every generation thereafter inherits the responsibility of giving that freedom, a meaning. The Pakistan we desire will not descend upon us through another political slogan. It will emerge slowly—in classrooms, homes, offices, markets, courtrooms, farms and streets whenever an individual chooses responsibility over convenience, integrity over advantage and compassion over indifference.
Nations, like individuals, can experience rebirth but rebirth begins with consciousness. Seventy-nine years after gaining a country, perhaps it is time for another struggle for independence: freedom from the smaller tyrannies residing within ourselves. Let the flag continue to fly proudly from our rooftops this 14 August, but let its meaning descend deeper into our conscience, our character and our conduct. For Pakistan will not become the country of our dreams merely by demanding better leaders, stronger institutions or a kinder destiny. It will become one when each of us accepts responsibility for becoming a better citizen. The next chapter of Pakistan will not be written by those who merely inherit it, but by those who resolve to become worthy of it.