It never fails. At every gathering, whether it’s a wedding, a funeral, or just waiting in line for some overpriced chai, someone will inevitably ask the million-dollar question: “Can Pakistan ever be fixed?” My answer is always consistent, and, depending on my mood, delivered with a smirk or a sigh: “No. Absolutely not. Fixing Pakistan is like trying to fix a car with no engine while everyone inside it is busy stealing the tires.”
Let’s get real for a moment. The issue's root lies in one undeniable fact: the entire society has become morally corrupt and, frankly, bankrupt. From the laborer struggling to make ends meet to the general commanding an army, from judges who’ve mastered the art of delayed justice to media personnel who can sell their “unbiased” opinions faster than you can say “rating wars”—corruption runs through every level like chai through a biscuit. The laborer might overcharge for shoddy work, justifying it as survival. The shopkeeper inflates prices because "everyone else does it." The general? Let’s just say they often confuse their duty to the country with a personal treasure hunt. Judges, who are supposed to be the last bastion of fairness, delay decisions so long that justice either becomes irrelevant or unachievable. And the media? Oh, they’ve turned sensationalism into fine art, packaging chaos and controversy into bite-sized, clickable nuggets of outrage. No institution is untouched, no profession immune, and no segment of society is untainted by this pervasive moral decay.
Let’s break it down. The laborer cheats on the weight of goods—a few grams here, a few grams there—it all adds up. The shopkeeper, armed with an arsenal of excuses, raises prices daily, blaming everything from inflation to imaginary import restrictions. The government official? They’re a master of multi-tasking, but not in the way you’d hope. Their official duties take a backseat to their side hustles, whether it’s running a private business or finding creative ways to siphon public funds. Professors and teachers, entrusted with shaping the next generation, are often more invested in their private tuition centers than in the classrooms they’re actually paid to manage. Schools become mere stepping stones to advertise their after-hours gig.
Fixing Pakistan would require a complete societal overhaul, but when everyone is invested in keeping the system broken, the idea of reform becomes laughable
And then there are the judges, whose job is to uphold justice but whose calendars seem more packed than a Karachi traffic jam. They delay cases for years, turning justice into a cruel joke. It’s as if they’ve adopted the motto: “Why deliver justice today when you can delay it for decades?” Meanwhile, the media, which should ideally serve as a voice of reason and accountability, is busy turning every minor issue into a full-blown soap opera. Sensational headlines, baseless theories, and clickbait galore—their goal isn’t to inform but to inflame. If there isn’t a crisis, they’ll gladly create one, complete with dramatic background music and over-the-top graphics. It’s a circus, and everyone’s invited to watch.
So, the question arises: who will fix Pakistan? The simple answer is, no one. Why? Because everyone is too busy either looking out for themselves or blaming someone else. It’s like watching a cricket team where every player is trying to be the captain while simultaneously sabotaging the game. The batsman doesn’t trust the bowler, the fielder’s too busy polishing his sunglasses, and the captain’s giving an impromptu motivational speech while the opposing team scores sixes. If everyone is morally and financially corrupt, where will you find the Messiah who’ll step in and clean up this mess? Spoiler alert: you won’t. No savior is coming riding on a white horse (or a Toyota Corolla, for that matter) to sweep away the decades of dysfunction.
And even if someone brave enough did attempt to fix it, they’d quickly find themselves buried under an avalanche of red tape, public apathy, and outright resistance. You’d have committees formed to investigate why the fix isn’t happening fast enough, protests against change because it’s “not how we’ve always done it,” and endless debates on talk shows where everyone agrees something must be done—as long as it doesn’t involve them. Fixing Pakistan would require a complete societal overhaul, but when everyone is invested in keeping the system broken, the idea of reform becomes laughable.
For Pakistan to be fixed, everyone would need to do their jobs honestly and responsibly. Imagine that! Officials work for the public, teachers teach with passion, and citizens pay their taxes. Sounds like the plot of a science fiction movie, doesn’t it? The reality is that most people don’t want to do their part because a functional Pakistan would mean losing the opportunity to game the system. Why bother with rules when chaos is so much more profitable?
The truth is, that many people prefer dysfunction. It’s comfortable, it’s familiar, and it allows everyone to continue their shady dealings under the radar. Fixing Pakistan would mean accountability—a terrifying prospect for a society that thrives on shortcuts and loopholes.
So, can Pakistan be fixed? Probably not. But hey, at least we’ll always have our humor and resilience to keep us going. If nothing else, we can proudly say that no matter how bad things get, we’ll always find a way to laugh at ourselves. After all, what’s more Pakistani than finding comedy in chaos?