For decades, progressive politics in Pakistan have been widely seen as a relic of the past, incapable of inspiring mass support. Yet that perception is only partly true. Pakistan has a rich progressive tradition, rooted in grassroots movements, labour organising, and social justice advocacy, but it has been repeatedly undermined and marginalised, above all by a military establishment that has shaped the political order to leave little space for alternative visions.
The country’s leftist roots stretch across both wings of pre-1971 Pakistan. In East Pakistan, leaders like Maulana Bhashani championed rural empowerment, land reform, and workers’ rights, mobilising millions of peasants and articulating a distinctly progressive, grassroots-oriented vision. His politics contrasted sharply with the elite-dominated structures of West Pakistan, offering a potential counterweight to entrenched power. Yet much of this tradition was lost with the breakup of Pakistan and the creation of Bangladesh in 1971. The departure of East Pakistan removed a critical base for progressive thought, leaving the new Pakistan even more concentrated in the hands of West Pakistani elites and the military. The severing of the eastern wing marked a turning point: a promising, nationwide progressive trajectory was abruptly truncated.
Even before 1971, progressive politics faced severe repression. By the late 1950s, the Communist Party of Pakistan had been banned, its leaders jailed, and its networks dismantled. The state branded activists “anti-national” or “foreign agents,” framing progressive thought as alien to Pakistan’s Islamic identity. These early actions reflected an understanding by the military and state elites that left-wing politics, with its focus on redistribution and popular empowerment, posed a direct threat to their monopoly on power.
The military’s hostility intensified under General Zia-ul-Haq, who seized power in 1977. Zia’s coup ended the government of Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, the PPP leader who had risen on a socialist platform and implemented landmark land and labour reforms in the 1970s. Bhutto’s execution in 1979 marked not only a personal tragedy but the dismantling of Pakistan’s most successful experiment with mass-based, progressive politics. Zia reshaped society itself: his Islamisation programme entrenched conservative laws, restricted women’s rights, and promoted a rigid moral order enforced by the state. Progressive and leftist ideas were framed as un-Islamic, while religious parties and militant groups were nurtured as allies. The result was a society where conservatism was institutionalised and the space for dissent shrank dramatically.
In a country where the ballot has so often been subordinated to the barracks, their persistence is an act of defiance and a reminder that progressive politics, though marginalised, is far from dead
The military’s dominance did not end with Zia. Pakistan’s intermittent returns to democracy have been shallow and closely monitored, allowing elected governments to operate only within limits set by the barracks. Dynastic families such as the Bhuttos and Sharifs have monopolised party leadership, but their survival has depended on accommodation with the military rather than challenging its authority. Politics has been reduced to a game of patronage and personality rather than ideology, leaving little room for genuinely progressive, grassroots movements to thrive.
Economic crises have compounded these challenges. Military adventurism, costly wars, and mismanagement have left successive governments dependent on foreign aid and IMF bailouts. Short-term stabilisation and austerity dominate the policy agenda, while redistributive social programmes and structural reforms central to progressive platforms are sidelined. Elite networks controlling feudal landholdings, crony capitalism, and military-owned enterprises have little incentive to empower workers, peasants, or marginalised communities.
Yet progressive politics has never disappeared entirely. It has adapted and survived outside the corridors of traditional party politics. Feminist groups, most prominently the Aurat March, have mobilised young women across urban centres to challenge gender violence, workplace discrimination, and patriarchal norms. Despite harassment, vilification, and threats, these marches have become one of the most visible symbols of contemporary progressive activism.
Student movements provide another crucial front. Once vibrant, student unions were banned under Zia and remain largely absent, yet recent years have seen efforts to revive student activism. Annual Student Solidarity Marches call for the restoration of unions, equitable education funding, and an end to harassment on campuses. Though modest in scale, they represent a new generation pushing back against authoritarian structures and imagining a more participatory political culture.
Smaller political parties continue to carry the progressive banner. The Haqooq-e-Khalq Party contests elections on platforms of social justice, workers’ rights, and redistribution. Civil society organisations campaign for labour rights, minority protections, and environmental justice, often at great personal risk. While their reach does not match that of dynastic parties, their persistence underscores the resilience of progressive thought in a hostile environment.
Across these movements runs a common adversary: the military. For seven decades, the barracks have shaped Pakistan’s politics, cultivating an elite system that privileges loyalty, patronage, and religious conservatism over democratic inclusion or progressive reform. Whenever progressive movements threaten to disrupt this order, they are met with bans, intimidation, or violence.
Pakistan today faces deepening crises: economic breakdown, political paralysis, and growing intolerance. These challenges are precisely those that progressive politics focused on equity, social justice, and democratic empowerment are best equipped to address. Yet such politics remains marginalised, not due to irrelevance, but because the military-backed structures of power systematically exclude it.
The endurance of feminist activists, students, and grassroots organisers is remarkable. Their struggle is not just for individual rights or piecemeal reforms; it is a challenge to an entrenched order that has long denied Pakistanis the possibility of a just and inclusive society. In a country where the ballot has so often been subordinated to the barracks, their persistence is an act of defiance and a reminder that progressive politics, though marginalised, is far from dead. The loss of East Pakistan’s vibrant progressive base in 1971 serves as a historical warning: Pakistan’s path towards social justice and equity has been repeatedly cut short, yet the struggle continues, from the streets of Karachi to the campuses of Lahore.