SYSTEM HAS COLLAPSED, LET’S CELEBRATE IT!

Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD

After nearly eight decades of independence, Pakistan has finally achieved something remarkable: we have spent 80 years perfecting the art of making a functioning society look dysfunctional.

Corruption is no longer an aberration but an operating principle; policies are drafted more for files than for implementation; professionalism is often sacrificed at the altar of sifarish; loyalty is measured by personal benefit rather than principle; patriotism appears most passionately on national days, preferably with a flag as a profile picture; and empathy has become an increasingly rare luxury.

From politics to bureaucracy, education to healthcare, media to business, and institutions to ordinary social dealings, the same disease seems to have spread everywhere, rules are negotiable, accountability selective, and merit perpetually homeless. 

And now, after eight long decades of denial, excuses and ceremonial self-congratulation, we are astonished to discover that the system has not merely developed cracks, it has collapsed.

The tragedy, however, is not that we failed to notice the collapse; it is that we spent 80 years calling the falling walls “progress.”

Many moons ago, when a Pakistani swimming contingent returned home after a dismal performance at the Olympics, they faced severe criticism. During a meeting with the swimmers, sports minister congratulated them, saying, “Everyone has returned safely, and, thankfully, no one drowned. Big congratulations!”

Let's talk about Hockey, the sport in which Pakistan once ruled the world and proudly flaunted it as our national game, has now given us another reason to celebrate. The Pakistan hockey team qualified for the World Cup after a hard-fought campaign and managed to win just one match, against Japan. It was, of course, a historic victory: our first World Cup win in 16 years. And, naturally, we also lost to our arch-rivals, India.

But by the time these lines are being written, the celebrations over the thrilling 4-3 victory against Japan may have ended, or perhaps they are still going on. After all, the Green Shirts will now play in the 9th-to-16th-place classification matches. Big congratulations!

On Friday, August 21, England defeated visiting Pakistan by an innings and 120 runs within three days at Headingley, in what was supposed to be a five-day Test match and the first of a three-match series. The second Test will be played at Lord’s on August 27, when Babar Azam is expected to make his comeback.

At Headingley, many people, including the goras, ridiculed Pakistan’s selectors, with some calling it the worst team in the history of Pakistan cricket, or suggesting that perhaps the selectors themselves were the worst. Ali Usman, however, proved them all wrong. He became the first overseas spinner since 1972 to claim a five-wicket haul at Headingley. Yes, Pakistan suffered a massive defeat, but let us not allow that minor detail to spoil the celebration. Big congratulations!

Arshad Nadeem, our champion javelin thrower who stunned the world by setting an Olympic record of 92.97 metres to win gold at the Paris Olympics, suffered an early exit after reportedly feeling cold and groggy. As he himself described it, the cold apparently got the better of him before his javelin throw at the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, where he finished ninth among 12 competitors.

Arshad managed a best throw of 77.41 metres in his first three attempts. But there was one encouraging sign: thankfully, the javelin (neza) was not frozen, only the thrower seemed to be. Especially the thrower in whom governments and the private sector have invested so heavily. Big Congratulations!

On August 14, the Pakistani government announced a number of civilian awards for people contributing in different fields. The actual conferment, however, will take place on March 23 next year. The decision was widely mocked on social media, with critics arguing that the value of civilian awards has been diluted, not only by some of the recipients, including serving office-holders, but also by those handing them out.

One social media user summed up the sentiment rather brutally: “Those deprived of awards for some reason can always get a Sitara-e-Imtiaz from any outlet of Imtiaz Store.”

Another interesting development came when a lawyer put the Presidency on notice by issuing a legal notice to President Asif Ali Zardari, seeking revocation of the civil awards announced for serving bureaucrats and officials. The petition reportedly invokes Article 259(2) of the Constitution and the Decorations Act, 1975, questioning whether routine official duties can really be classified as extraordinary public service.

Will the Presidency respond? If it does not, perhaps the awardees will simply have to accept the honour. Congratulations!

On the same evening, the Islamabad city administration (ICT) and Islamabad Police organised “A Parade” at D-Chowk as part of the Independence Day celebrations. The public event was largely appreciated, but the appearance of the Chief Commissioner Islamabad, who also happens to chair the CDA, and the Inspector General of Islamabad Police riding together on a buggy certainly added an unexpected royal touch to the proceedings.

Social media, naturally, noticed. The federal interior minister who days earlier had revealed that ‘system has collapsed’, later offered a rather thoughtful explanation: the chief guest was late because of other engagements, and the two senior officers were apparently directed not to give the public any “further pain” by making them wait any longer. So, instead of waiting on the ground, the two high-ranking officials were placed on the buggy. Problem solved, and, apparently, history made.

Days later, however, the prime minister took stern notice, expressing disappointment and displeasure over the display of pomp and show. The officials were advised to demonstrate humility, restraint and dignity, and to ensure that such conduct would not recur.

The public, meanwhile, appreciated the parade. The gathering was somewhat thin, but perhaps that too was part of the national restraint. Big Congratulations!

Most recently, on Monday, August 24, 2026, yet again during the month of our Independence, a group of students at Sarhad University’s Islamabad campus staged a protest over issues about the reinstatement of their Head of Department, fee structure and class arrangements.

The university’s female Head of Student Affairs, approached the protesting students in an attempt to engage with them and resolve their grievances; however, some of the agitated students reportedly misbehaved her. She subsequently called her husband, a serving military officer, for assistance.

Upon entering the university premises, the officer confronted the students; after a quick exchange of harsh words, he scuffled and opened ariel fire, apparently to intimidate protesting students. Several mobile-phone videos, including footage portraying the officer’s conduct during the incident, subsequently went viral on social media.

Having watched all the viral videos circulating on social media and thoroughly examined the matter at the campus, many are now showering praise on the civilian-military couple for their “gallant” intervention in resolving the issue, with some even recommending that the President confer upon them the prestigious Sitara-e-Imtiaz. Big congratulations!

Meanwhile, according to the official version, the officer has since been taken into custody and disciplinary proceedings have been initiated against him. The Pakistan Army has reiterated that discipline, accountability and justice remain its foremost institutional priorities, and that appropriate action will be taken in accordance with the findings of the ongoing inquiry.

Read Also: CONSTITUTION WEEPS, POLITICIANS SPEAK, CITIZENS WAIT IN PAKISTAN

Talking to this scribe, Shahzad Anwar Farooqi, a senior journalist and political commentator, said it was unfortunate and a matter of concern that Pakistan was declining in almost every field, with sports being no exception.

“Over the years, whatever Pakistan has achieved in various sports has largely been because of individual brilliance and natural talent. Teamwork never really worked in our sporting history. Now, unfortunately, those individuals are also missing,” he lamented.

Farooqi said Pakistan no longer produced players of the class of Abdul Razzaq, Shoaib Akhtar and Wasim Akram, to name a few. “Perhaps players of that calibre still exist, but where are the eyes that can identify them and put them into the playing arena?”

He questioned the current selection system, saying policies were often made in closed rooms. “How can a selector identify the quality of a player without watching him in domestic cricket? Statistics can tell you who performed best, but they cannot always reveal a player's real quality under different circumstances, pitch, ground conditions, facilities and other factors, unless selectors are physically present.” So, politics is everywhere, and the system has collapsed, he concluded.

Now, we have reached a point where failure is celebrated as survival, mediocrity as achievement, privilege as merit and misconduct as gallantry. Whether it is sport, education, administration, institutions, or public life, we no longer seem interested in fixing the system; we are merely competing to explain why its latest failure deserves congratulations.

After 80 years, the walls have finally fallen, and instead of rebuilding them, we are busy applauding the collapse. Big congratulations, Pakistan!

Mahtab Bashir is a journalist and holds M.Phil degree in Political Science and International Relations from Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad.

YOUR WOMAN IS RESPECTED, EVERYONE ELSE IS UP FOR DISCUSSION?

LALARUKH FAROOQ 
ISLAMABAD

I have always found the sentence, “We respect women,” rather fascinating. Because in our society, even respect seems to come with terms and conditions. The rules are apparently simple, but somehow they change depending on who the woman is, what she is wearing, what family she belongs to, and most importantly, whether she is considered “ours.”

Some women are treated as precious. Some are judged more harshly. And some seem to be missing entirely from the official register of people deserving basic respect.

The difference is often not their character. It is their relationship to us.

I once travelled by train with my sister. Circumstances meant that we had to travel without our father and brothers, so we booked seats in the ladies compartment simply to avoid unnecessary inconvenience.

We do not cover our faces with a niqab, but that certainly does not mean we have no concept of modesty or boundaries. I am not exactly the sort of person who chats with strangers or turns every gathering into a social event. I am rather reserved, quiet and perfectly happy minding my own business.

Anyway, a group of women came and sat opposite us.

They were covered from head to toe in burqas, but the volume of their laughter and conversation suggested that the entire compartment had accidentally become their private living room.

They were accompanied by a man.

He had a beard, wore a short shalwar and a prayer cap. Judging purely by appearance, one might have thought, “Well, what a pious and respectable gentleman.”

There was just one tiny problem.

His eyes kept wandering towards us.

Then this wonderfully respectable gentleman picked up our bags, threw them down beside us, and began arranging his own family’s luggage in the overhead storage space.

We had a couple of shoulder bags and a small suitcase, so we simply kept them beside our seats. It was a five hour journey, and frankly, their constant chatter had already exhausted our patience. We had absolutely no interest in starting a luggage dispute on a moving train.

But the real comedy had not even begun.

As soon as the train started moving, our respectable gentleman ran off to buy juice and Lays, returning like a man feeding his favourite hens.

Then he gave us another strange look and remained nearby. Perhaps he was thinking,

“I really should have brought a burqa and travelled in the ladies compartment too.”

Later, the women removed their burqas.

Fair enough. It was a ladies compartment, after all. There was no particular reason for them to remain covered around other women.

But then, at almost every stop, some man would appear at the window, leaning in for conversation, jokes and laughter.

The volume was impressive. The language was even more impressive.

And the contrast between their appearance and their conversation was so dramatic that I genuinely wanted to ask,

“Who wrote this script?”

Then, about half an hour before our destination, the burqas came back. The niqabs came back. Suddenly everyone was once again perfectly modest, graceful and innocent.

And our respectable gentleman, who had spent most of the journey trying one way or another to create an interaction with us, went off on another important mission.

Our luggage was already safely beside us, so his assistance was not required.

Still, the effort was admirable. The success rate, however, was zero.

And here comes the funniest part.

Read Also: IT'S NOT ABOUT AGE, IT'S ABOUT MINDSET

These were all very respectable, decent and honourable people. Because they had respect. We, apparently, were another category altogether. And that is exactly where the real issue begins. We encounter little scenes like this all the time.

Someone proudly declares, “I respect women.”

Then, five minutes later, a mother or sister becomes the subject of a perfectly fluent insult.

Just stop for a second.

The woman whose name you are using as an insult is also a woman. She simply happens to be someone else’s mother, sister or daughter. And perhaps that is the simplest description of our problem:

Your woman is respected. Everyone else is up for discussion.

Your sister’s clothes?

Absolutely nobody is allowed to comment. Another girl wearing something you dislike? Suddenly everyone becomes a fashion critic, moral judge and character certificate distributor.

Someone looks at your wife? Outrage.

But staring at a girl walking down the street? Apparently that is harmless.

Your woman chooses to cover?

“Of course. She understands the importance of our honour.”

Another woman chooses not to?

“Well, if she is not covering, why should I control my eyes?”

What a fascinating piece of logic.

Apparently modesty is everyone else’s responsibility, while self control is optional.

Then the same pattern appears at workplaces.

Women are judged for what they wear, how they speak, how loudly they laugh, whom they talk to and how friendly they are.

Men tease one another, make comments about women and discuss their appearances.

And somehow, at the end of it all, someone still announces,

“We really respect women.” No.

You do not necessarily respect women.

You respect the women you personally consider yours.

And those are two completely different things.

Real respect is not tested when the woman standing in front of you is your mother, sister, wife or daughter.

Almost everyone knows how to behave then.

The real test begins when the woman in front of you has no relationship with you, owes you nothing, cannot benefit you, does not dress according to your preferences and is completely outside your control.

If you can still keep your eyes, your tongue and your behaviour respectful then, perhaps you genuinely understand respect.

Otherwise, protecting your own women while judging every other woman is not respect.

It is simply favouritism dressed up as morality.

And there is something particularly strange about making a woman’s dignity dependent on her clothes.

If a woman wears a full burqa, does that automatically make her more worthy of respect?

And if another woman chooses not to cover, does that somehow make her less worthy of basic human decency? Of course not.

Modesty can be a religious choice. It can be a personal value. Different people will make different choices.

But basic human respect should not be conditional upon clothing.

Otherwise, the real problem is no longer the woman’s clothes.

It is our own gaze and our own thinking.

What makes this even more ironic is that some people who are extremely strict about women’s clothing seem to give their own language a complete exemption from the same moral standards.

A woman wears something they dislike?

Judgement.

A woman laughs loudly?

Judgement.

A woman speaks to men?

Judgement.

A woman does not dress according to their expectations?

Another judgement.

But when the same person casually uses insults involving someone’s mother or sister?

“Oh, that is different.”

Of course it is.

Apparently their morality comes with a very convenient membership plan called:

Your woman is respected. Everyone else is up for discussion.

If we genuinely believe in respecting women, then the standard cannot be limited to the women we love, belong to, or feel responsible for.

Respect has to exist even when there is no personal connection.

Even when we disagree with someone’s choices. Even when we dislike their clothing. Even when they owe us absolutely nothing. You can disagree with a woman’s choices without humiliating her.

You can hold personal religious or cultural values without turning yourself into the judge of every woman around you.

And you can believe in modesty without believing that women who dress differently have somehow surrendered their right to dignity.

Because the true measure of a person’s character is not how respectfully they treat the women they call their own.

It is how they treat the women who are not theirs. Otherwise, our entire moral system can be summarised rather neatly:

Your woman is respected. Everyone else is up for discussion.

And then, with a completely straight face, we proudly announce,

“We respect women.”

The sentence says “women.”

The mindset says “our women.”

And that tiny difference explains a lot about the double standards we see around us every single day.

Respect should not be a privilege handed out according to relationships.

It should be a basic standard of human behaviour. Otherwise, it is not really respect at all.

It is simply special treatment for the people we claim, and judgement for everyone else.

Lalarukh Farooq is a media professional, analyst and Gold Medalist with an M.Phil. in Media Studies.

CONSTITUTION WEEPS, POLITICIANS SPEAK, CITIZENS WAIT IN PAKISTAN

MAHTAB BASHIR 

ISLAMABAD

If there is one thing Pakistan's political elite excel at, it is the art of doing absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. August 17, 2026, was a masterclass.

On one side of the city, the Senate Sub-Committee on Devolution declared 25 federal ministries unconstitutional and demanded their immediate abolition. On the other side, the Sustainable Development Policy Institute (SDPI) hosted a seminar where political leaders passionately debated whether Pakistan should create even more administrative units.

The Constitution was invoked, cited, lamented and violated, sometimes by the same people, on the same day, in the same city. One group wanted to shrink the government. The other wanted to expand it.

Neither seemed to know what the other was doing. And both were absolutely certain that they were right. If only they had swapped rooms, they might have saved everyone a great deal of confusion, but that would require the kind of coordination that has eluded Pakistan's politicians for 79 years.

Senate committee: 25 ministries are illegal, throw them out

The Senate Sub-Committee on Devolution, chaired by Convener Senator Barrister Zamir Hussain Ghumro, delivered a scathing indictment of the federal bureaucracy. The committee declared that 25 ministries, including Health, Education, Railways, WAPDA, Petroleum and the Police Service, are operating in "serious and gross violation of the Constitution."

The following 25 ministries, divisions, corporations, and authorities are operating in "serious and gross violation of the Constitution" and must be immediately shut down and/or devolved:

1. Health
2. Education
3. National Food Security
4. Water Resources
5. Climate Change
6. Housing
7. Special Initiatives
8. Culture and Heritage
9. Evacuee Trust Board
10. Zakat and Ushur (collection)
11. Naya Pakistan Housing Authority
12. EOBI
13. Narcotics
14. Police Service
15. PMDC
16. Korangi Fish Harbour
17. Press Information Department
18. SIDCL
19. Railways
20. Industries
21. Statistics
22. Petroleum
23. Inter-Provincial Coordination
24. Planning and Development
25. WAPDA

The committee revealed that even before the 18th Amendment, the federal government had no authority over concurrent matters, yet 17 ministries were unconstitutionally established anyway. Loans were raised against those ministries, plunging the country into a debt trap. Why follow the Constitution when you can just borrow against ministries that should not exist?

"Non-implementation of the 18th Amendment has led to hemorrhaging money," Senator Ghumro declared, helpfully pointing out what everyone already knew. The committee noted that the federal government has "consistently, periodically and brazenly ignored" the Constitution.

Recommendations

The Committee's recommendations constitute nothing less than a constitutional reset for Pakistan:

A) Limit Federal Government to Nine Core Ministries

The federal government must confine itself exclusively to:

• Defence
• Foreign Affairs
• Finance
• Commerce
• Communication (including broadcasting subject to provincial part under Article 159)
• Maritime Affairs on High Seas
• Science and Technology
• Law and Justice (including Human Rights)
• Parliamentary Affairs

These nine ministries have an official budget of Rs 3.3 trillion this year (excluding Rs 130 billion paid by provinces through NFC to the Finance Division for tax revenue collection).

B) Reduce Federal Expenditure from Rs 19 Trillion to Rs 13 Trillion

Pakistan can save Rs 6 trillion annually by faithfully implementing these recommendations, reducing federal expenditure from its current colossal Rs 19 trillion to Rs 13 trillion.

C) CCI Re-constitution on Provincial Equality

The Committee demanded that the CCI be reconstituted "on the basis of equality of Provinces instead of majority of one Province," with the summary sent to the President "who is a symbol of the Federation with immediate effect."

D) Fixation of Essential Commodity Prices in CCI

The Prime Minister must convene CCI meetings to fix prices of petroleum products, gas, electricity, medicinal drugs, and other essential commodities, matters that constitutionally belong to the CCI, not the Federal Cabinet.

Stark reality: Provincial budget laid bare

In a comparison that lays bare the scale of federal overreach, the Committee highlighted the 2026-27 provincial budgets:

Province Annual Budget

Balochistan Rs 1.089 trillion
KP Rs 2.1 trillion
Sindh Rs 3.5 trillion
Punjab Rs 5.9 trillion

The Federal Government illegally and unconstitutionally withholds and wastes the equivalent of Punjab's entire annual budget, a sum that could transform healthcare, education, and infrastructure across the nation.

SDPI seminar: But what if we made even more provinces?

Meanwhile, at the SDPI seminar titled "Should Pakistan create more administrative units?", political leaders from PMLN, PPP, MQM, PTI, JI and JUIF gathered to discuss governance reform. Because nothing screams effective governance like inviting all the parties to one room and asking them to agree on anything.

Syed Mustafa Kamal argued that smaller administrative units could bring government closer to citizens, a revolutionary idea that somehow required a high-level seminar. 

Barrister Aqeel Malik noted that citizens care about roads and sewerage, a shocking revelation that apparently demanded parliamentary attention. Asad Umar warned of declining public trust, as if that needed pointing out.

Salman Akram Raja pointed out that even splitting Punjab into three provinces would leave each unit larger than most European countries. Zahoor Dhareeja made an impassioned case for a separate Seraiki province. 

Dr Farrukh Saleem opposed creating more provinces without fixing institutions first. Fawad Hussain Chaudhry said restructuring needs political consensus.

The participants, in their collective wisdom, reached a "remarkable consensus" that something must be done, without agreeing on what, how, when or who should do it. In short, they agreed that they disagreed, and called it progress. Only in Pakistan can a group of politicians agree on absolutely nothing and still declare it a success.

The irony: Shut down or build up?

The contrasting events of August 17 reveal a uniquely Pakistani talent for contradiction. The Senate committee wants to abolish Health, Education, Railways, WAPDA and 20 other bodies. The SDPI participants want to explore creating new provinces. One group wants to shrink the government. The other wants to expand it. Both are happening simultaneously, in the same city, with many of the same politicians.

The 18th Amendment remains unimplemented on both sides. The Senate committee blames the federal government for violating it. The SDPI participants lament that provincial resources have not reached local governments. Everyone agrees the Constitution is being violated. Nobody agrees on how to stop violating it.

Perhaps the most telling moment came when the Senate committee reminded the federal government that Pakistan is a federation created by its provinces, not a unitary state.

The SDPI seminar boomed similar sentiments, with Qamar Zaman Kaira warning that reform must avoid deepening inter-provincial sensitivities. So everyone agrees on the problem. Everyone agrees on the solution, in principle. Implementation? That is where the magic of Pakistani politics kicks in.

What do we learn?

Pakistan's politicians have once again demonstrated their unparalleled ability to talk endlessly while achieving nothing. They agree the Constitution is being violated. They agree governance needs reform. They agree local governments need strengthening. They just cannot agree on how to do any of it.

The Senate committee has spoken. The SDPI seminar has deliberated. The Constitution has been invoked, cited, lamented and violated, sometimes by the same people on the same day.

Meanwhile, Pakistan's 248 million citizens continue to wait for someone, anyone, to actually do something. Do not hold your breath.

The writer is an Islamabad-based journalist and can be reached at mahtabbashir@gmail.com

IT'S NOT ABOUT AGE, IT'S ABOUT MINDSET

Lalarukh Farooq

Islamabad 
lalarukhfarooq@gmail.com

Age is such a funny thing in our society. Some people hide their own age. Some keep counting everyone else’s. And some completely forget their own age while making someone else’s age their personal national issue.

In my workplace, most people belong to Gen Z or the older generations. What I find amusing is that people who become strangely secretive about their own age, as if asking their age is an interrogation, can be remarkably fearless when commenting on someone else’s.

“You’re older than my mother!”

Okay… and?

Since when did someone’s age become a measure of their intelligence, education, skills, beauty or worth?

If someone’s mother married young, that is not my responsibility. Two women being different in age is neither a crime nor an achievement. It certainly does not tell us who is more intelligent, capable or accomplished.

And wrinkles?

Please.

Pointing out someone’s wrinkles does not make your own personality any smoother.

The real issue here is age-shaming.

Age-shaming is not simply calling someone “old”. It is the deeper belief that as a person grows older, their value somehow becomes smaller.

And here is something worth remembering:

Being younger is not a qualification.

You are younger than me? Congratulations. Your birth certificate has done its job.

But now, let’s talk about the things that actually matter.

Are you respectful?

Are you hardworking?

Are you sensible?

Are you willing to learn?

Can you celebrate someone else’s success without feeling personally threatened by it?

Because age is chronology, not character.

Your age tells me when you were born.

Your choices, discipline, knowledge, skills and behaviour tell me who you have become.

Making fun of someone’s success is easy.

Building your own skills is harder.

Backbiting is easy.

Building character is harder.

Scrolling through reels for hours is easy.

Sitting down to learn something new takes effort.

Taking shortcuts is easy.

Consistency is difficult.

Counting other people’s flaws is easy.

Looking honestly at your own reflection is rather inconvenient.

Perhaps this is one of our biggest social problems:

We are unpaid analysts of everyone else’s lives, yet barely interns in our own.

We have opinions about everyone.

Their age.

Their appearance.

Their wrinkles.

Their clothes.

Their accent.

Their success.

Yet somehow, when it comes to improving ourselves, the meeting is mysteriously postponed.

Making fun of someone’s age will not make you younger.

Mocking someone’s wrinkles will not make you more beautiful.

Diminishing someone’s achievements will not make yours greater.

And calling someone “old” certainly does not make you wise.

Real maturity is being able to respect someone who is older than you, more experienced than you, more educated than you, or simply better at something you are still learning.

That does not mean every older person is automatically right.

Respect is not obedience to age. It is evidence of character.

And perhaps we should collectively learn one simple lesson:

If you have enough time to comment on someone’s age, appearance, wrinkles, clothes, accent and achievements, you probably have enough time to reserve a small slot for your own growth too.

Because, in the end, people will not remember how cleverly you joked about someone’s age.

They will remember what kind of person you were.

Youth is a stage of life.

Maturity is a way of thinking.

Respect is a choice.

So if you are younger than me, by all means, enjoy the privilege.

But please do not confuse being younger with being better.

A birth date can make you young.

Your choices, your character and the way you treat people are what make you mature.

Lalarukh Farooq holds an M.Phil. in Mass Communication, is a gold medalist, and brings valuable newsroom experience along with expertise as a social media professional.

Karoline Says ‘Leave It’ to White House, ‘Mom’ Role Comes First

White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt is stepping down from her high-profile position at the end of August to devote more time to her young children and family, President Donald Trump has announced.

At 28, Leavitt made history as the youngest person ever to serve as White House press secretary and became the first person to openly navigate pregnancy while holding the position. 

Despite leaving the post, she is expected to remain close to Trump as an outside adviser and continue to play an influential role in the Republican Party.

Key Points

• Karoline Leavitt will leave the White House press secretary position at the end of August.
• President Donald Trump described her as one of his most trusted aides and praised her performance.
• Leavitt, 28, became the youngest White House press secretary in history in January 2025.
• She became the first White House press secretary to openly experience pregnancy while holding the job.
• She will continue advising Trump from outside the White House.
• Leavitt said her decision was driven by her desire to be a better mother to her two young children.

Trump announced Leavitt's departure in a post on Truth Social on Wednesday, saying she wanted to spend more time with her “beautiful young children and family,” a decision he said he understood and respected.

Trump also said Leavitt would become one of his top outside advisers as his administration prepares for the midterm elections. He praised her work in the White House and described her as one of the best press secretaries in the history of the office.

Leavitt, meanwhile, said on X that her “past year and a half” in the White House had been the “honor and adventure of a lifetime.” She expressed gratitude to Trump for giving her the opportunity to work in the West Wing, spend time in the Oval Office, travel internationally and meet foreign leaders and Americans across the United States.

She said balancing the demanding press secretary role with motherhood had been both challenging and rewarding. However, following the birth of her daughter in May, Leavitt said she realized she could not give her two young children the time and attention they deserved while continuing in one of the most demanding jobs in the world.

“I have felt in my heart that I cannot be the best mom my two young children deserve,” she said, explaining the decision to leave the position.

Leavitt gave birth to her daughter, Viviana, on May 1. She and her husband, Nicholas Riccio, 60, also have a two-year-old son, Niko. She returned to the White House on July 16 after several months of maternity leave.

Her pregnancy itself marked a milestone in White House history. After announcing in December that she was expecting another child, Leavitt became the first White House press secretary to openly navigate pregnancy while serving in the position.

Leavitt assumed the post in January 2025 at the age of 27, becoming the youngest person ever to hold the job. She had previously worked in Trump's White House press office during his first administration and later served as a spokesperson for his 2024 presidential campaign.

She was the only person to serve as Trump's press secretary during his second term. During Trump's first presidency, the position was held successively by Sean Spicer, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Stephanie Grisham and Kayleigh McEnany.

Although her tenure at the White House podium is coming to an end, Leavitt has made clear that her political career is not. She said Trump had asked her to continue serving as a top adviser from outside the administration and vowed to remain a vocal supporter of the Republican Party and the MAGA movement.

“My fight is entering a new phase, but it is far from over,” Leavitt said.

US Shirt Claims 30-Day Freshness. Pakistan Accepts the Challenge

Americans wash clothes 8 to 10 times a week. That's a lot of water, soap, and effort.

A company in Minnesota looked at that and thought, "We can do better." So they made a t-shirt using copper, silver, gold, volcanic ash, and two secret ingredients they won't tell anyone about.

Three Versions, Three Prices

Budget – $39 – Stays fresh for 3+ days
Standard – Price not disclosed – Stays fresh for 14+ days
Max – $79 – Stays fresh for 30 days

It's called the HercShirt V5.0, fifth version of their anti-smell tee. They even made self-cleaning underwear before this (seriously). Their Kickstarter raised **$275,000** against a $3,333 goal. People really hate laundry.

The Claim

Wear it 30 days straight. No wash. No smell. Seven odor-fighting materials woven into the fabric.

The Science

· Copper: kills bacteria (hospitals use it)
· Zinc: kills sweat smell
· Volcanic ash: soaks moisture

All inside the fabric, not sprayed on top.

Pakistan Summer Test

Karachi – humidity so thick you sweat in 5 minutes.
Example: Bus from Tower to Saddar at 3 PM. Packed with 20 people. The guy next to you hasn't changed his shirt in 3 days. His smell hits before his elbow. Can the HercShirt save him? Maybe. Can it save you? Debatable.

Lahore – dry heat + pollution = sticky grey sweat paste.
Example: Food delivery rider on bike, 11 AM to 6 PM. Shirt soaked, stuck to back. By evening, smells like fried onions and regret. If this shirt survives that for a month, it's a miracle.

Islamabad – cooler, but still brutal.
Example: Government officer walks 3 minutes from car to office. Sweat patches under arms. Sprays cologne, now smells like flowers + gym sock. HercShirt would save his dignity.

The Honest Truth

Summer turns everyone into a science experiment.

· Some shower daily, still smell by noon.
· Others skip showers and wear the same shirt for days.
· The shabby ones? Yellow stains, permanent odour, clothes that've never seen detergent.

They don't just smell, they announce themselves.

The Catch

Silver and copper are toxic to water. Up to 80% washes off in the first cycle. Company says: "Then don't wash it." Fair, 12 washes a year is less damage.

When & Should You Buy?

Ships November. Black only (navy, burgundy, green later).

· Travel a lot? Yes
· Lazy with laundry? Yes
· Live in Pakistan? Gamble
· That uncle with the week-old kurta? Please buy it for him

At $79, it's either smart or silly. But if it survives one Karachi, Lahore, or Islamabad summer day without smelling like a wet goat? I'll take two.

UXI MUFTI REVEALS UNTOLD EVOLUTION OF LOK TAMASHA, LOK MELA, LOK VIRSA

Mahtab Bashir

mahtabbashir@gmail.com

0333 53 63 248

ISLAMABAD

In the summer of 69, (quite different from Bryan Adam’s nostalgic hit), two men with tape recorders hanging on their shoulders, set out on a journey through Pakistan's dusty villages, far-flung towns, and underdeveloped cities, unaware they were about to stumble upon a treasure that would eventually reshape how a nation saw itself.

One was Samir Naguib, a folklore expert dispatched by UNESCO from Rome's prestigious Santa Cecilia Academy. The other was Dr. Uxi Mufti, a young academic freshly returned from completing his PhD from Prague, who had been assigned as Naguib’s local counterpart with a modest budget of just 5,000 rupees between them.

What followed was a tale so improbable that it reads like fiction, a story of bureaucratic betrayal, accidental television broadcasts, jealous colleagues, and one man's stubborn refusal to let Pakistan's cultural soul be buried in government archives.

This is the story of how Lok Virsa, Pakistan's National Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage, came into existence, told in the words of its founder, Uxi Mufti, who for the first time reveals the complete, authentic history of its evolution.

Wandering scholars and the charge sheet

"Our mission was simple," Uxi Mufti recalls, his eyes still carrying the spark of adventure from those three transformative months in 1969. "Samir Naguib and I were to travel village to village, across the length and breadth of Pakistan, making sample recordings of 100 to 200 hours of folk music and traditions for UNESCO's archives."

Uxi Mufti with the scribe. A file photo

For three months, they crisscrossed the country, through the rugged terrain of Balochistan, the fertile plains of Punjab, the deserts of Sindh, and the mountain valleys of NWFP (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa). They recorded everything: the haunting melodies of Sindhi dhamal, the rhythmic beats of Balochi dhol, the poetic verses of Pashto tappa. In the process, they discovered something far more valuable than recordings, they unearthed 2,500 unknown artists, musicians, and performers who had never appeared on radio or television.

But upon their return, instead of celebration, they were met with bureaucratic hostility. The ministry's officers had changed, and a section officer demanded they account for every single penny of the 5,000 rupees. "Where did you disappear?" They were asked. "You have no phone number, no office; where should we write a letter to you?"

A charge sheet was prepared. The folklore band they had formed was disbanded. Both men were effectively dismissed.

"I was treated very badly," Dr. Mufti says, the sting of that injustice still audible in his voice decades later. "But looking back, that rejection was perhaps the greatest gift I ever received. It lit a fire in me that would not be extinguished."

The pilgrimage of a dream

Undeterred, Dr. Mufti created a comprehensive project for a Folklore and Folk Art Academy in Pakistan. What followed was a pilgrimage through the corridors of power, a journey that took him to the Ministry of Information, the Ministry of Education, the Foreign Office, the Council of Integration, and every federal secretary who would grant him an audience.

"No one listened to me," he remembers. "I was quite disheartened."

But the 2,500 artists he had discovered haunted him. Among them were names that would later become legends: Khamiso Khan, whose soulful renditions of Sindhi shah jo raag would captivate millions; Munir Balaidi, the master of Balochi folk instruments; Charlie Malang and Party, whose energetic performances embodied the spirit of Punjab; and Allan Faqir, whose Sufi-inspired music transcended boundaries.

"People knew them a little in their own areas," Mufti explains, "but at the national level, no one knew them. They had never appeared on radio or TV. Their voices were trapped in villages, their instruments unheard beyond the next valley."

It was then that Mufti had an audacious idea.

The tomato challenge and the accidental broadcast

Armed with nothing but conviction, Mufti approached Aslam Azhar, the General Manager of Pakistan Television (PTV). "I will give you a stage show," he declared.

Aslam Azhar, known for his pragmatic approach, was skeptical. "What will be in your stage show?" he asked.

Azhar leaned forward. "Uxi, people will throw tomatoes at you." (The remark referred to a common Urdu idiom, implying that the show might end in embarrassment or failure). Where are you planning to stage this show?" he continued.

"At Liaquat Memorial Hall, Rawalpindi," Mufti replied confidently. "Liaquat Hall seats 2,500 people," Azhar said. "Do you really think you can fill it?"

"I promise I'll show you a packed hall," Mufti responded with confidence. ".... And no one will be throwing tomatoes at me." "In my stage show, I will bring very unknown people, whom no one knows, onto the stage," Mufti replied.

Aslam Azhar proposed a test: "First, make a pilot project for me in the TV studio. We will watch it. If it gets approved in our General Manager board, then do the programme. Otherwise, you are out."

Mufti created a pilot called "Lok Tamasha" (The People's Spectacle), featuring Pakistan's best regional musicians and artists, Munir Sarhadi, Khamiso Khan, Charlie Malang and Party, and others. He left no artist undiscovered.

The project was presented to PTV's General Manager Conference, which included media heavyweights like Agha Nasir and Nisar Hussain and others. They watched the pilot and rejected it.

"It is not worth being aired on the elite Pakistan Television," they declared, dismissing it as too rustic, too provincial. All of Mufti's cassettes were thrown into the archives.

But fate had other plans.

In those days, about three-fourths of PTV's programmes came from abroad, American shows like Lucy Show and Dennis the Menace aired during prime time. One evening, the episode of Dennis the Menace that was scheduled for 7 PM never arrived. The flight carrying the tape was delayed.

"The transmission controller got worried," Mufti recounts with a smile. "He called the programme manager and asked what to do. The manager said, 'Check in the cupboards, see what is lying there, play it.'"

The controller opened a cupboard and found cassettes labeled "Lok Tamasha." Without any alternative, he played it.

"My show accidentally went on-air on the national hook-up," Mufti says, still marveling at the cosmic coincidence.

A people's television

When Lok Tamasha aired, Pakistan Television was flooded with letters and messages, from Dera Ghazi Khan, Dera Ismail Khan, Quetta, all of Balochistan, the interior of Sindh, Jacobabad, and Hyderabad.

"For the first time, we realised that this TV is also ours," people wrote. "Where was this programme before? Why wasn't it done before? We liked it a lot."

Aslam Azhar called Mufti immediately. "Mufti, do the show, man! Do it in Liaquat Memorial Hall!"

And so, Lok Tamasha was born. For nine consecutive years, Mufti produced a live programme every week from Liaquat Memorial Hall. It became a cultural phenomenon.

"There was only one TV," Mufti remembers. "When my show used to run, the streets would become deserted. Wherever I went, people would say, 'Oh... the Lok Tamasha guy has arrived.'"

The show's popularity reached such heights that when Mufti went to perform Umrah, people recognised him there too. "Look, the Lok Tamasha guy has arrived!" they would say. The programme had become so beloved that even after nine years, it was difficult to stop.

A complaint against Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Now famous, Dr. Uxi Mufti finally secured an audience with Abdul Hafeez Pirzada, the Education Minister. His celebrity status opened doors that had previously been slammed shut.

Pirzada listened carefully to Mufti's proposal for a Folklore and Folk Art Academy and sent him to meet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the renowned poet and Chairman of the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA).

"When I met Faiz Sahab," Mufti recalls, "instead of asking for something, I complained to him. I said, 'Faiz Sahab, I have a complaint against you.'"

Faiz, who knew Mufti in two ways, as the host of Lok Tamasha and as the son of the celebrated writer Mumtaz Mufti, listened patiently.

"You made the Karachi Arts Council, the Alhamra Arts Council, now you made the Pakistan National Council of Arts with a film department, research and publication, visual and performing arts, theater," Mufti continued. "One thing you forgot every time."

"What is that?" Faiz asked. "Folklore department, Folklore research centre," Mufti replied.

Faiz responded, "Brother, who will do that?" "Sir, I will do it," Mufti declared, placing his entire proposal before him.

Faiz was a man who could spot talent easily. He immediately called his accountant and said, "Give him a job, Senior Executive PNCA, Director-in-Charge Folklore Research Centre."

"Mufti, what salary will you take?" Faiz asked. "Sir, I am taking 1,000 as salary. I have an intention to marry, so if you increase it by 200 rupees, I will come to you," Mufti replied. "Give him 1,200 rupees," Faiz ordered.

The jealousy and the 500-Rupee budget

But acceptance was not without its battles. The subordinates at PNCA were jealous of Uxi Mufti's appointment. "Who has arrived?" they sneered.

"They did everything to undermine me," Mufti says. "They stopped the budget of the Folklore Research Centre; they made my programme budget 500 rupees per month."

With such a paltry sum, nothing substantial could be done. But Mufti had a resource that money couldn't buy, his Lok Tamasha programme on TV. He continued bringing artists into folklore research, recording their performances, and slowly building an archive.

Soon, his office filled with the sounds of drums, instruments, dance, and music. "In my office, drums, instruments, dance, music, sounds started coming all the time," he recalls.

The PNCA people became even more jealous. "He is doing performing arts, not research work at all!" they complained. "Stop him!" But Mufti paid no attention.

The first Lok Mela and the resignation

Mufti approached Aslam Azhar again. "Lok Tamasha is done now," he said. "My intention is to organise a Lok Mela. Will you fund it?" "How much money do you need?" Aslam Azhar asked. "Give me 75,000 rupees, and I will organise a Lok Mela for you," Mufti replied.

And so, the first Lok Mela, "Artisan at Work Festival", was organised in the parking area of the Islamabad Club in 1986 or 1987.

When the festival was broadcast on Pakistan Television's national hook-up, Khalid Saeed Butt, who had replaced Faiz Ahmed Faiz as DG PNCA, made a strong complaint against Mufti. He went to Hafeez Pirzada's office and said, "Look at Mufti! He said he would make a Folklore Research Centre, and he is holding festivals with dancing and folk dancers from all over the country, all without my permission and your permission."

Hafeez Pirzada immediately called Mufti and ordered, "Stop all this, and come to my office."

Mufti neither stopped the festival nor went to his office. Instead, he wrote his resignation and went to Hafeez Pirzada's office that evening.

"Before you say anything to me, this is my resignation," Mufti declared. "If I, being the head of the folklore department, cannot even show folk dance, cannot even call regional artisans, then you don't need me. I am sorry, I am going back to television to work for them."

Hafeez Pirzada instantly changed his stance. "No, no, no... No Mufti, I am sorry, what do you want?" "Sir, I cannot survive with PNCA," Mufti replied. "If you want my services to continue and I keep doing this work, then you must create a National Folk and Traditional Heritage institution for me, separate from PNCA."

Pirzada agreed. "Call all the diplomats," he said. "I will launch this new idea."

Read Also: Lok Virsa: Striving for cultural resurgence

Birth of Lok Virsa

Thus, the National Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage (NIFTH) was established. In the beginning, it was a small office in F-7/1 with a tiny museum.

"When it became a complete separate institution, I kept its local name 'Lok Virsa'," Mufti says proudly. "Many people objected because in those days, local names were not kept for government institutions. I was the first person who kept a local name for a government institution."

The name Lok Virsa, which translates to "The People's Heritage", became famous all over the country and the world. What started as a rejected tape recording expedition in 1969 had evolved into a national institution that preserved and celebrated Pakistan's rich cultural heritage.

"Lok Virsa's soul is in Lok Tamasha," Dr. Mufti reflects. "The people of Pakistan opened their hearts to this television programme, and then they opened their homes to the idea of preserving their heritage. 

Lok Tamasha was the call that awakened us, Lok Mela was the voice that carried the message, and Lok Virsa stands as the sacred sanctuary we raised with our shared hands.

Read Also: PAKISTAN MONUMENT: A THEMATIC MUSEUM

Epilogue: The voices that would not be silenced

Today, Lok Virsa stands as a living museum of Pakistan's diverse cultural traditions. The 2,500 artists Dr. Uxi Mufti discovered in 1969, the Khamiso Khans, the Munir Balaidis, the Charlie Malangs and Parties, found their voices on the national stage.

Now, Lok Mela has become the hallmark event of Lok Virsa, which organises this annual festival in winter to celebrate Pakistan's rich cultural heritage. The festival brings together artisans and folk artists from across the country, who demonstrate their traditional crafts, skills, music, and performances.

Over the ten-day event, the Lok Virsa complex remains packed with visitors, while parking areas overflow as thousands of people flock to the festival. 

Throughout the ten days, a vibrant array of cultural activities, folk performances, craft exhibitions, traditional cuisine, and musical shows create a lively atmosphere, making Lok Mela one of Pakistan's most celebrated cultural festivals.

Read Also: LOK VIRSA: FROM FOLK HERITAGE TO A NATIONAL CULTURAL INSTITUTION

The legacy of Uxi Mufti is a powerful reminder: when we listen to the unheard, we discover our own identity. His transformation, from a rejected officer to a celebrated visionary, from a shelved idea to a globally respected institution, proves that culture is not preserved in sterile archives. It lives in the dust of rural paths, in the songs of forgotten artists, and in the courage to carry tradition forward into an uncertain tomorrow.

"The evolution of Lok Virsa is a remarkable tale, Mahtab," Mufti declares with a knowing smile. "And what you have just heard is the complete, authentic history, never before told, and you are the first person I have chosen to entrust it to," he concludes.

The writer is an Islamabad-based journalist who puts ethics ahead of sycophancy.