Justice Markandey Katju, in his recent conversation with Dr. Moeed Pirzada, did not bring forth a new controversy—he merely held up a mirror. He labeled both Jinnah and Gandhi as British agents, holding them responsible for the great divide of 1947. While such a claim stirs emotions and challenges long-held narratives, a closer examination is necessary. Were these leaders truly agents of the British, or were they merely navigating a colonial chessboard designed to divide and rule? If they were British agents, why did the British hastily leave, plunging the subcontinent into chaos? The more reasonable conclusion is that both Jinnah and Gandhi were not colluders but rather leaders maneuvering through an imperial system that thrived on divisions. Their visions, however noble, became casualties of this grand manipulation.
Jinnah, the man who shaped Pakistan’s destiny, was not merely a politician but a statesman whose vision extended beyond the immediate political realities of his time. He envisioned a land where law and justice would reign, where religion would guide but not dictate, where all faiths would find shelter beneath a canopy of equality. He sought a nation built upon principles of democracy and economic self-sufficiency, a homeland where meritocracy would prevail over feudal hierarchies and entrenched power structures.
Yet, his vision was met with skepticism by some, none more so than Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, who watched from the sidelines, warning of tempests yet to come. Azad saw not just the partition of land but the fracture of spirit, the breaking of bonds that had taken centuries to weave. He did not rejoice in the creation of a new state; instead, he mourned its inevitable fate. He spoke of shadows lurking behind the celebration, of power slipping into the wrong hands, of a country that would one day devour itself.
Time, ever the silent judge, has now spoken. As the pages of history turn, their ink dripping with the weight of unfulfilled promises, one cannot help but wonder: was the creation of this land a beautiful mirage destined to disappear, or a tragedy meticulously written long before the first bullet of Partition was fired?
The Betrayal of a Vision
Jinnah’s dream, as Stanley Wolpert chronicled in Jinnah of Pakistan, was never meant to be a mere reversal of colonial rule. It was not about erecting barriers between communities that had coexisted for centuries. It was about autonomy, dignity, and self-respect. He envisioned a nation that would stand tall, rooted in justice, unshackled by prejudice. A land where the law would be sovereign, not brute force.
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But what happens when the guardian of the house becomes the arsonist? When the hands that were meant to nurture the tree of democracy instead wield axes to sever its roots? The story of Pakistan is not just of misplaced ideals but of systemic betrayals. From the moment of its birth, power fell into the hands of those who saw governance as a personal fiefdom rather than a sacred trust.
Azad had foreseen this. He had warned that in the absence of a strong civilian tradition, the corridors of power would become a playground for those who thrived in shadows. That a nation carved out of blood and migration would remain in a perpetual state of displacement—not just physically, but existentially.
A House Divided: The Ruins of 1971 and the Lessons Unlearned
The first great reckoning arrived in 1971. What was foretold became reality. A country born in the name of unity tore itself apart. The eastern half of the promised land, suffocated under the weight of broken pledges, decided it had bled enough. The verdict was clear: when a nation is run by arrogance rather than inclusion, when voices are silenced instead of heard, it is not a matter of if but when the edifice will collapse.
Bangladesh’s birth should have been the moment of awakening, the slap that jolts the dreamer into consciousness. But instead, the cycle of mistakes persisted, the lessons ignored. The puppeteers behind the curtain learned not humility but a more sophisticated method of control. Power, once wielded with visible force, was now exercised through invisible strings.
The Grand Illusion: The Manufactured Democracy of Post-2022
Fast forward to April 2022, and another carefully orchestrated spectacle unfolded. A leader who had risen on the tide of populism, who had challenged the very custodians of the old order, was cast aside in a coup masquerading as legality. The chessboard was reset, the pawns rearranged, but the hand that moved them remained the same.
The sham elections of 2024 were merely the latest chapter in a script written long ago—a script where ballots are cast but never counted, where justice is discussed but never dispensed. The institutions meant to protect the people have become the very instruments of their oppression. And so, the people, once hopeful inheritors of Jinnah’s dream, have been reduced to silent spectators of their own misfortune.
The judiciary, once envisioned as the bastion of justice, now finds its wings clipped, its decisions dictated not by the constitution but by whispered orders. The media, once the watchdog of democracy, has been tamed into submission, its voice muzzled, its eyes blindfolded. And those who dare to speak are exiled—not from the land, but from the right to belong.
The Economic Abyss: A Nation Sold in Pieces
Maulana Azad had prophesized that Pakistan would remain economically dependent, forever at the mercy of those who hold the purse strings. And here we are, drowning in debts, pledging sovereignty in exchange for the next IMF bailout, selling dignity in return for borrowed survival. The wealth of this nation, meant for its people, is siphoned away to fuel the insatiable greed of a select few. The burden of extravagance is placed upon the shoulders of those who cannot even afford a loaf of bread.
The cities, once bustling with promise, now echo with the silence of broken commerce. Industries collapse under the weight of mismanagement. Inflation robs the poor while the rich revel in their untouchable fortresses. The educated youth, once the vanguard of progress, now queue in embassies, seeking escape from a homeland that no longer recognizes them.
The Final Reckoning: A Nation at the Edge
Today, Pakistan stands at the precipice of its own undoing. Not through foreign invasion, not through natural disaster, but through the slow erosion of its own foundations. This is not the death that comes with a bang, but the kind that creeps in like an uninvited guest, turning light into darkness, breath into suffocation.
What remains now is a question of endurance. How long can a body survive when its soul has been hollowed out? How long can a nation pretend to stand when its legs have been shackled by those who claim to protect it?
The tragedy is not just that the dream was stolen. It is that those who were meant to guard it became its greatest betrayers. And so, the question remains: is there still a chance for resurrection, or are we merely waiting for the final collapse? In the end, history does not mourn those who refused to change. It merely buries them beneath the weight of their own undoing.
Ali Abbas is a lawyer based in Islamabad. The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Global Village Space.