September 15, 2025: International Day of Democracy
Democracy is not an edifice of stone nor a ritual of ceremonies. It is not merely the sound of gavels in august chambers, nor the counting of ballots sealed in wooden boxes. Democracy is life itself — breathing, trembling, aspiring. It is the quiet dignity of a peasant bending over his field at dawn, believing that the fruit of his labour shall return to him in justice. It is the luminous courage of a woman who stands in a village council, her voice breaking through centuries of silence. It is the unyielding resolve of a child from a minority community who dares to learn and dream in a land that is his by birthright.
In Pakistan, democracy has too often been performed as theatre: celebrated in slogans, draped in flags, immortalised in speeches — and yet withheld from the daily lives of its citizens. It has circled within corridors of privilege, from Rawalpindi to Lahore, while the vast mosaic of the republic — its deserts, its mountains, its coastlines, its neglected towns and forgotten villages — has been left unseen, unheard, unfinished. But democracy is not the charity of rulers; it is the inheritance of the people, written in the dignity of every soul, waiting to be honoured.
A republic is whole only when it embraces every fragment of itself. The icy passes of Gilgit, the restless shores of Gwadar, the turbulent waters of Kashmir, the sprawling streets of Karachi, the thirsty sands of Thar, and the yearning plains that call themselves Saraikistan — all are chapters of one story, veins of one body. To silence any is to wound the whole; to honour each is to make the nation complete. Land is not geography alone; it is memory, language, and belonging. When Saraiki farmers call for recognition, when Baloch voices demand dignity, when the highlands of Gilgit seek their rightful place — these are not rebellions, they are reminders: that Pakistan is not Lahore and Islamabad alone, but a chorus of many lands, many histories, many futures.
True democracy is not sustained by the exchange of thrones among the few. It flourishes only when power descends like rain upon the earth — nourishing the roots of local councils, irrigating the furrows of community, filling the empty hands of citizens with authority over their own lives. Without this, democracy is a hollow echo; with it, democracy becomes a living song. The republic must flow like blood to every capillary of the nation. From the union council in Bahawalpur to the neighbourhood committee in Karachi, governance must live where people live. Centralisation is not strength but suffocation. Devolution is not division but life itself.
Yet no nation may call itself a republic while half its voices are muted and its minorities rendered invisible. A tree that cuts away its own branches cannot bear fruit; a house that breaks its own walls cannot stand. The Pakistan that is worthy of its name cannot be a republic of absence, but a republic of presence — the presence of all its people, equal in dignity, equal in rights, equal in power. Women must walk into every council hall as if they walk into their own home. Minorities must see themselves not as tolerated guests but as rightful architects of the future. To empower them is not an act of generosity; it is the fulfilment of justice.
And what of the youth — the restless majority, the carriers of tomorrow? They are not heirs to a broken shell; they are the guardians of a living flame. They must not inherit silence, but speech; not ashes, but fire; not shadows, but light. Their destiny is not to guard a half-finished republic but to bring forth a new one: luminous, inclusive, unafraid. They must be trusted not as the subjects of promises but as the authors of destiny.
The call for Saraikistan, for empowered Balochistan, for vibrant Sindh, for honoured Gilgit-Baltistan — these are not cries of separation but invitations to wholeness. Federalism is not weakness; it is the architecture of dignity. Only when every province is honoured will the federation stand strong. Unity is not uniformity; it is harmony among differences.
To believe in such a Pakistan is not an extravagance of dreamers; it is the very condition of survival. For a state without democracy is an edifice without a soul. But a state where every citizen counts, every region belongs, every faith is sheltered, and every voice is heard — such a state becomes eternal.
This, then, is the covenant waiting to be fulfilled: that Pakistan shall belong to its people, all of them. That its power shall flow not from palaces but from the soil. That its future shall be written not by the few but by the many. Only then will Pakistan rise as it was meant to rise: a republic of all souls, bound not by fear, not by privilege, but by the sacred recognition that every life within its borders matters.
