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 Convenor 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 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. The committee also rejected the 1997 Gadoon Amazai judgment, noting that Parliament had already fixed the issue. Apparently, nobody informed the federal government.

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 echoed 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. 

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.

A Resignation That Chose Conscience Over Comfort & Luxury

Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
Islamabad

She could have clung to this powerful designation, as so many in both civilian and military circles in this part of the world often do, rather leave no stone unturned in seeking an extension.

She could have quietly slipped into an extended leave, with or without pay, secure in the certainty that such a lucrative position would always remain within reach.

She could have chosen comfort, privilege, and silence.
She could have devoted herself to building grand symbols of legacy and love, much like the monumental mausoleums of the Mughal era that history endlessly romanticises.

But, she chose something far rarer: dignity over attachment, principle over power, and conscience over convenience.

In doing so, she has delivered a profound and painful rebuttal to those clerics and commentators who tirelessly preach that the ‘Western system’ is hollow, fragile, and devoid of family values or moral courage. Her decision stands as a reminder that integrity is not confined to geography, religion, or culture, it is born from character.

Yes, many continue to criticise Director National Intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard for not resigning earlier, before or during the outbreak of the Israel–US–Iran conflict. 

That debate will continue in political circles and drawing rooms alike. But beyond politics, beyond timing, and beyond partisan arguments, this single page of resignation carries a moral weight that speeches, slogans, and carefully crafted narratives often fail to achieve.

This resignation letter is not merely an official document. It is a golden page of history, one that will be remembered for a very long time, not because it held power, but because it had the courage to walk away from it for a cause.

Some letters fade into archives. Others become part of history. It is a mirror held up to power, privilege, and conscience. Read it. Feel it. And absorb every word of it.

Get well really soon, Abraham!

Writer is Islamabad-based journalist who can be accessed at mahtabbashir@gmail.com

NPC Elections 2026-27: How Hubris, Internal Divisions, and a Demand for Accountability Ended the Journalist Panel’s 20-Year Dominance

The surprise outcome of the National Press Club Elections for 2026-2027 has not only busted the two-decade-long monopoly of the Journalist Panel but has also ushered in a strict mandate for deliverance for The Democrats. With the newly elected panel now holding both the presidency and secretary slots, the outcome signals a sharp departure from business as usual, and places the incoming leadership under strict pressure to deliver tangible reform within a one-year tenure.

ISLAMABAD: The annual elections at the National Press Club (NPC) have upended decades of political continuity within one of Pakistan’s most influential journalist bodies. The results brought a definitive end to the Journalist Panel’s long-running dominance, elevating the opposition Democrats Panel to the club’s top slots.

Journalists from Dunya News, while talking to this scribe, point to a convergence of structural failures, internal dysfunction, and shifting voter behaviour that collectively sealed the panel’s fate. Below is a critical examination of the key factors behind its defeat.

Internal Dissidence: A House Divided

The Journalist Panel’s collapse was accelerated from within. Long-simmering discontent among its own ranks, voiced by figures such as Haji Anwar Raza, Qurban Satti, and factions within the APP and Southern Punjab, shattered the appearance of unity. These internal fractures alienated core supporters and handed The Democrats a clear opening.

As Zafar Hashmi, chief reporter at Dunya News, noted, the Journalist Panel’s troubles were self-inflicted long before the first vote was cast. The panel’s presidential nomination was deeply controversial, with internal voices raising serious objections well ahead of election day, objections that were summarily dismissed by those at the helm. 

Rather than selecting a candidate capable of commanding broad-based support, the leadership doubled down on a choice that alienated key segments of their own voter base.

Even more damaging, Hashmi continued, was the handling of the secretary slot. In a glaring lapse of judgment, the position was handed to a novice, selected not on merit or strategic calculation but through the influence of a few members within the panel. This decision reflected a broader pathology: the prioritisation of factional favouritism over electoral viability. 

The secretary candidate was not only politically inexperienced but also ill-equipped to shoulder the organisational weight of a campaign already under strain.

Crucially, both decisions were symptomatic of a unilateral decision-making structure in which Afzal Butt exercised near-total control, sidelining group members and disregarding their input and feedback.

Key choices were made in isolation, without the benefit of collective deliberation or internal accountability. Dissenting voices, far from being integrated into strategy, were treated as obstacles to be managed rather than signals to be heeded.

The result was predictable. The panel entered the election fragmented, its internal divisions laid bare, and its leadership politically exposed. In the absence of institutional checks within the group, there was no mechanism to correct course, no room for recalibration. By the time the campaign officially began, the damage had already been done, and the electorate took note. 

According to the chief reporter Dunya News, Afzal Butt's choice to pit Abid Abbasi against Khawar Nawaz Raja for the position of finance secretary was a shrewd move, given that both belonged to Kashmir. Consequently, Abbasi's win and Raja's loss came as a surprise to many voters, myself included. Many had anticipated a clean sweep from the top-tier slot.

A Campaign of Complacency

Where previous elections saw the Journalist Panel deploy structured campaigns, this year’s effort was strikingly lacklustre. No clear manifesto was presented. Outreach remained minimal, and messaging offered little beyond vague rhetoric. Voters, accustomed to promises of continuity, were given no compelling reason to remain loyal.

This strategic vacuum allowed The Democrats to frame themselves as the only credible alternative, one backed by a clear reform agenda and a visible commitment to institutional accountability.

Overconfidence After Two Decades of Control

Twenty years of uninterrupted rule bred a fatal complacency. The panel assumed traditional loyalties would carry the day, neglecting grassroots engagement and dismissing early signs of voter discontent. This arrogance left them unprepared for an electorate increasingly willing to break with old allegiances. 

Accumulated Grievances: Years of Neglect Come Due

For nearly two decades, club members watched facilities decline, communication from leadership evaporate, and grievances accumulate without redress. Complaints about administrative neglect, elite capture, and detachment from rank-and-file journalists were routinely ignored. This reservoir of frustration made the electorate receptive to any opposition that promised accountability, a space The Democrats successfully occupied.

The Collapse of Panel-Based Voting

A fundamental shift in voting behaviour further undermined the Journalist Panel. For the first time in years, journalists cast ballots based on individual credibility rather than panel affiliation. Personal reputation, accessibility, and track record outweighed traditional loyalties.

As Aslam Lurka, Syed Qaisar Abbas Shah, Sohail Khan, and SM Zaman observed, this marked a clear departure from past voting patterns, one that directly benefited The Democrats, who fielded candidates with strong independent followings.

Scrutiny of the Voters List: A Level Playing Field

Administrative reform played a decisive role. Rigorous scrutiny of the electoral roll led to the removal of thousands of fake journalist entries, a long-standing mechanism that had historically inflated the Journalist Panel’s vote bank. With genuine voters now forming the electorate, the panel could no longer rely on manufactured majorities.

Dr. Zahid Awan, sports journalist and columnist for Dunya News, noted that the results reflected a direct backlash from legitimate voters against the previous regime’s promotion of fake voters.

Failure to Defend Journalists’ Rights

Perhaps most damaging was the Journalist Panel’s perceived failure to defend press freedom and journalist welfare during critical moments. Last year’s controversial police raid on the Press Club, during which law enforcement entered the premises without authorisation and assaulted journalists, became a watershed.

Many members viewed the panel’s response as tepid and insufficient, eroding trust in its ability to protect institutional autonomy.

This failure became a rallying point for The Democrats, who campaigned on a promise of assertive leadership in defending the club’s dignity and its members’ rights.

Unity as the Democrats’ Strategic Advantage

In contrast to previous opposition efforts, often fractured by individual ambitions, The Democrats forged a rare and disciplined coalition under the leadership of veteran journalists Tariq Usmani and Haji Nawaz Raza. This unity allowed them to present a cohesive alternative, channelling widespread dissatisfaction into a focused electoral challenge.

The Results: A Historic Shift

The Democrats secured key victories across major positions:

Position	Winner	Margin / Context
President	Abdul Razaq Sial	15 votes (against Nayyar Ali)
Secretary	Dr. Furqan Rao	Significant victory
Vice Presidents	Two slots secured	Strategic wins in competitive races

With approximately 2,200 votes polled, the presidential margin of just 15 votes underscores how tightly contested the election was, and how each factor above proved decisive in tipping the balance.

Turnout stood at 65 percent, a figure considered resilient given that the elections were held during Ramadan, with many journalists unable to vote due to unavoidable circumstances.

Broader Implications: Accountability Arrives at the Press Club

This election transcends a simple change of office-bearers. It signals:

·        A demand for accountability: Journalists expect their own institutions to model the transparency they advocate for in governance.

·         The end of dynastic complacency: Long-term dominance is no longer a guarantee of electoral success.

·         The power of institutional reform: Cleaning the voters’ list fundamentally altered the electoral landscape.

·         A shift toward merit: Voting based on individual capability has overtaken blind panel loyalty.

A Mandate, Not a Gift

The Democrats’ victory carries weighty expectations. Members who voted for change will now demand visible improvements in club facilities, governance, communication, and the institution’s role as a defender of press freedom. Whether this moment becomes a genuine turning point or merely a change of faces will depend entirely on the new leadership’s ability to deliver.

What remains beyond dispute is the message sent by Islamabad’s journalist community: after two decades of unfulfilled promises and institutional drift, accountability has finally arrived at the National Press Club.

Mahtab Bashir is an Islamabad-based journalist and can be reached at 0333 53 63 248