THROUGHOUT my profession, I have closely engaged with government ministries, agencies and departments, both at the local and federal levels. In my younger days, the calling of the public services was strong, and I passed through the process of the CSS examinations and interviews. My aim was to be an officer of the DMG (district management group), and I disdained the possibility of joining any other group. Given my domicile (urban Sindh), competition was strong for the single seat allotted to Karachi and that was chosen by the person who topped the exams. I decided then that I would still try to work for the people of my country, but go the way of civil society.

I learned my trade (development — ie public service carried out by private citizens) in the katchi abadis of Karachi — Machhar Colony, Baloch Colony, Orangi Town, and other smaller areas. My work brought me close to people there, and it also made me realise that government involvement was essential. In the 1990s, Machhar Colony, home to 400,000 people from all over the country, came under the administrative division of the Port Authority. The colony, which comprised of internal migrants who had illegally settled on Railways land in the 1950s/60s, was divided by ethnic and socioeconomic grouping — so the Bengalis who were the poorest lived closest to the sea with most of their women and children engaged in the shrimp cleaning trade. The Pathans and Punjabis were somewhat better off and lived in their demarcated areas of the colony, and their men would work in the city.

There was one government school and one government health centre in the area. The school catered to around 500 children. The remaining 120,000 (approximately) children were catered to by low-income private schools, or not at all. The Citizens Foundation (TCF) was just starting up in those days but did not yet have their Lyari campus. There was a gigantic open nullah — at least 10 metres wide — that took wastewater into the sea, but there was so much debris and plastic waste in the drain that you could not see the water flow. One would keep hearing about how children would fall in and drown or never be found again. There was no proper drainage, electricity or water provision to this colony. The streets, if that is what they could be called, were not made for humans or cars. And as the name suggests, the area was infested by mosquitos (although one personally felt that the flies outnumbered the mosquitos). The biryani, however, was the best I have eaten — yes readers, there is a reason Karachiites are known for their cast-iron tummies.

We made continuous efforts to involve the local government agencies in attempts to help the colony. I attended meetings in the municipal offices where I was told that the plans to cover the nullah had been designed and were ready to be implemented, but nothing happened. I personally took the Port Authority DC for a tour of Machhar Colony, to show him how bad the situation was. But he was least interested. My team and I would force vaccinators to cover the entire area — including the alleyways which they usually skipped. We worked with the private schools (lack of interest of the government school prevented us from working with them) to improve teaching quality, provided basic healthcare to mothers and children, held environment-related events, inter-school sports competitions, and so on. I was hopeful that things would get better. But without the real public servants doing their part, it was a losing battle.

While there have been good and even great public servants in Pakistan’s history, their greatness owes little to the institution.

Years later, living in Islamabad, I again had the opportunity to engage closely with government institutions and individuals, this time at the federal level. This experience left me scarred and with the realisation that we need urgent structural reforms if we are to save this country. Yet, those with power believe that such reforms can only make them the losers.

We berate our colonial heritage — rightly so — all the while adamantly adhering to those same rules. But even our colonial masters have changed their rules. If you examine the British public service today, it is a different beast to what it used to be and to what we continue to have in place. Here, the ‘servants’ continue to remain the masters. And while there have been good and even great public servants in Pakistan’s history, their greatness owes little to the institution. It is that special individual who sometimes manages to build a small circle of excellence in spite of it all. I think of the recent events hosted by the Pakistan Academy of Letters, and feel a sense of pride and inspiration. Yet, I also know it will not last. And the greater challenge is that debate on systemic reforms only begins post retirement, when the powerful are suddenly left weakened.

I write this piece on the back of my recent experience and extreme frustration with the Islamabad Electric Supply Company — Iesco. My fellow citizens across the country are reeling from the way such agencies currently do business. The aim, it seems, is to rob the citizen through procedural obfuscation and human apathy. Our structures and systems have become criminalised and decency has long since left the building. My heart breaks for my country. But a little voice inside my head raises a sneaky question — don’t people deserve the rulers they get? If that is the case, my fellow citizens, we are all to blame.

The writer is an independent development professional and impact advisor with over 25 years of experience designing and managing programmes to improve people’s lives.

samialakhan21@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, September 14th, 2024