From Subjects to Citizens: Pakistan’s Unfinished Independence
Mohammed Qazilbash

Nearly eight decades after independence, Pakistan must confront a difficult truth: the colonial ruler left, but the colonial relationship between state and citizen did not.
Pakistan was created in 1947 as an expression of political self-determination. Its people were promised a homeland in which they could live with dignity, security and political agency. Nearly eight decades later, Pakistanis possess all the formal attributes of citizenship. They have passports, national identity cards, the right to vote and constitutional guarantees of fundamental rights. Yet for millions, citizenship remains more a constitutional promise than a lived reality.
This raises a question that Pakistan has been reluctant to ask with sufficient honesty: are Pakistanis truly citizens of Pakistan, or are too many still treated – and conditioned to behave – as subjects of the state?
The question is not whether Pakistanis are citizens in law. They are. The real question is: does the Pakistani state treat Pakistanis as citizens? For millions, the answer remains troubling. A citizen is not simply a person who belongs to a country. Citizenship is a relationship between the individual and the state based on rights, dignity, participation and accountability. A citizen does not beg for what the law guarantees. A citizen does not need an influential intermediary to access a public service. A citizen does not fear the institutions established to protect them.
A citizen can question government without being regarded as disloyal. Yet too many Pakistanis experience the government differently. They encounter the state as an authority that regulates, controls, taxes and sometimes intimidates them – while basic services, justice and accountability remain uncertain. The result is a profound contradiction: Pakistanis are citizens constitutionally, but many experience governance as subjects. How did this happen? And, more importantly, how do we change it? A citizen possesses not merely nationality but political agency. They have a meaningful ability to participate in choosing those who govern, to influence public decisions, to hold office, to organise politically, to express dissent, and to hold public authorities accountable. A subject, by contrast, is primarily the recipient of decisions made by others. The state exercises authority over them, but they have limited or ineffective means of shaping that authority. This distinction is important for Pakistan because it moves the debate beyond the question of whether people can technically vote.
Pakistan achieved political independence from Britain in 1947. But independence did not automatically dismantle the institutions or political culture through which colonial rule had operated. The British colonial state was not designed to create empowered citizens. It was designed to administer territory, collect revenue, maintain order and protect imperial interests. Its relationship with the population was fundamentally hierarchical. The state commanded. The population complied. The official possessed authority. The ordinary person sought permission.
The colonial administration therefore created institutions that were powerful in relation to society but insufficiently accountable to it. Pakistan inherited many of these institutions at independence – including the bureaucracy, police, legal structures and administrative systems – because a new country could not simply dismantle its entire machinery of government. But the deeper challenge was not the institutions themselves. It was the culture embedded within them. The British left, but the idea that government stood above society did not disappear with them.
Pakistan changed the occupants of the state without fully changing the relationship between the state and the people. The flag changed. The rulers changed. But too much of the governing psychology remained. This is perhaps Pakistan’s most important unfinished decolonisation.
Pakistan’s early years were extraordinarily difficult. Partition brought mass displacement, violence and enormous humanitarian needs. Millions of refugees had to be settled. Government institutions had to be established almost from scratch. The economy was fragile. The new country faced immediate security challenges and conflict with India. The state, therefore, developed under conditions in which survival understandably came before democratic consolidation. But there is a danger in building political institutions around permanent crisis. Emergency measures can become permanent. Security can become the dominant lens through which society is viewed. And citizens can gradually be taught that political participation must give way to stability whenever the country faces difficulties. Pakistan’s early political history reflected this tension.
The political institutions responsible for representing citizens remained fragile, while the bureaucracy and military possessed organisational strength, institutional continuity and a clear command structure. The dissolution of the Constituent Assembly in 1954 was an early warning that representative authority could be overridden by executive power. The first military coup followed in 1958. That precedent would profoundly shape Pakistan’s political development. Once elected, political authority could be displaced by unelected authority, the citizen’s relationship with the state changed. The lesson was no longer simply: “Your vote determines who governs.” It became: “Your vote matters, but it may not determine the ultimate distribution of power.” That is a devastating lesson for citizenship.
Pakistan has faced genuine and serious security threats throughout its history. The conflict with India, the Kashmir dispute, Afghanistan’s instability and terrorism have all imposed enormous costs. A state has an obligation to protect its citizens. But national security cannot become an argument for permanently limiting citizenship. There is a fundamental difference between a secure citizen and a controlled population. A secure citizen is protected from violence while retaining rights. A controlled population may be protected from some threats but denied meaningful agency. The state must therefore protect citizens not only from external enemies but also from arbitrary exercise of power.
Security must include human security: freedom from violence, discrimination, poverty, exclusion and institutional abuse. When dissent is automatically equated with disloyalty, protest with instability and criticism with hostility, democracy becomes fragile.
A citizen must be able to say: “I disagree with my government” without being forced to prove: “I am loyal to my country.”
Criticising a government is not the same as rejecting the state. Indeed, the ability to criticise government is one of the ways citizens protect the state from becoming unaccountable.
No serious discussion of Pakistan’s political evolution can ignore the role of the military. Pakistan has experienced prolonged periods of direct military rule, while the military establishment has also exercised considerable influence during periods of elected civilian government. The issue is not whether Pakistan needs a strong military. It does. Nor is the issue whether the military has legitimate national-security responsibilities. It unquestionably does. The issue is whether democratic citizenship can mature when the institution responsible for defending the state also becomes, at various points in history, an arbiter of political authority. Democracy requires a clear principle: the military defends the republic; elected civilian institutions govern it. Elsewhere, it is said that “A country has an Army, in Pakistan, this is not the case, in Pakistan the Army has a country”!
When that boundary becomes blurred, citizens become uncertain about where ultimate authority resides. That uncertainty is politically corrosive. A citizen can accept losing an election. A citizen can accept changing governments. A citizen can accept political disagreement. What a citizen cannot reconcile easily with democratic government is the belief that the political system can ultimately be overridden by institutions that are not directly accountable to voters.
Civilian supremacy, however, cannot simply be demanded. It must also be earned. Pakistan’s civilian political institutions must become competent, transparent and accountable enough to command public confidence. The answer to institutional imbalance is not the weakening of one institution. It is the strengthening of constitutional institutions as a whole. It would be convenient to place the entire responsibility on military intervention. That would be intellectually dishonest. Pakistan’s civilian political elites have also contributed to the persistence of subjecthood.
Political parties have too often been organised around personalities, families and patronage rather than institutions, ideas and internal democracy. The citizen becomes important during elections but frequently disappears from the political equation afterwards. The voter is mobilised. The supporter is celebrated. But the citizen is not necessarily empowered. Political parties often ask: “Who is with us?” Citizens should be asking: “What are you doing for the country, and how will you be held accountable?” The difference is profound. A political system built around patronage produces subjects. A democratic system produces citizens.
Perhaps nowhere is Pakistan’s subjecthood more visible than in the ordinary citizen’s interaction with the state. Ask a Pakistani how to obtain a government document, resolve a bureaucratic problem, access a public service or navigate a government department, and one question frequently emerges: “Who do you know?” That question is more than an expression of frustration. It reveals an entire political culture. In a functioning rights-based system, a citizen asks: “What is the procedure?” In a patronage-based system, the person asks: “Who can make the procedure work for me?” The difference between these two questions represents the difference between citizenship and subjecthood. A citizen relies on institutions. A subject relies on relationships with those who possess power. Patronage therefore does more than encourage corruption. It creates dependency and dependency strengthens those who control access to the state. This creates a vicious cycle: weak institutions produce dependence on powerful intermediaries. Dependence strengthens patronage. Patronage weakens institutions further. Breaking this cycle must be central to Pakistan’s democratic transformation.
The consequences can be seen everywhere. A road is presented as a politician’s gift. A school becomes a favour. A government job becomes an act of personal generosity. Access to a public hospital is treated as something to be negotiated. A police officer is approached through a political intermediary. A government official becomes someone who can ‘help’ rather than someone performing a public responsibility. But a government does not give citizens what belongs to them. It administers public resources on their behalf. This distinction needs to become part of Pakistan’s political vocabulary. A public school is not a favour. Clean water is not a favour. Justice is not a favour. A birth certificate is not a favour. A functioning health system is not a favour. These are manifestations of the state’s obligations to its people. When citizens understand this, their relationship with government changes. They stop asking for favours. They start demanding performance.
The experience of citizenship is also profoundly shaped by inequality. The wealthy can hire lawyers. The politically connected can reach officials. The powerful can obtain information. The poor may struggle simply to enter the system. A citizen living in an affluent urban neighbourhood and a citizen in a remote rural district may possess exactly the same constitutional status, yet experience completely different relationships with the state. This is why poverty is not merely an economic problem.
If a person cannot afford legal representation, they may possess the right to justice but be unable to exercise it. If a child receives an inferior education, they possess the same constitutional status as every other child but not the same opportunity to realise that citizenship. If a woman cannot safely participate in public life, her formal rights do not necessarily translate into substantive citizenship. The true test of democracy is therefore not how the powerful experience the state. It is how the least powerful experience it.
Pakistan does not need another revolution in the conventional sense. It needs a revolution in expectations. The citizen must move:
From “Can you help me?” to “What does the law guarantee me?”
From “Who do I know?” to “Which institution is responsible?”
From “What can my politician give me?” to “What does my representative owe me?”
From “Who is powerful?” to “Who is accountable?”
This is the psychological foundation of citizenship. And it begins with education.
Pakistan’s education debate is overwhelmingly focused on literacy, employment and economic growth. These are essential. But education has another purpose: preparing people to participate in society as citizens. What does it mean to be a responsible citizen of a society?
Young Pakistanis should learn:
• what the Constitution means;
• what rights they possess;
• what responsibilities they have;
• how Parliament works;
• how local government works;
• how public money is spent;
• how to challenge unlawful decisions;
• how to participate peacefully in democratic processes;
• why minorities have equal rights;
• why disagreement is not disloyalty.
A child should not leave school knowing only how to pass an examination. They should leave understanding: “I have rights. I have responsibilities. My government is accountable to me.” Democracy cannot be sustained by people trained only to obey. It requires people capable of thinking, questioning and participating.
If Pakistan wants to transform subjects into citizens, it should begin much closer to home. Democracy cannot exist only in Islamabad, provincial capitals and television studios. Citizens experience government locally. They experience it through schools, hospitals, roads, sanitation, water, transport, policing and municipal services. This is why meaningful local government is essential.
Article 140A of Pakistan’s Constitution provides a basis for local government, but constitutional recognition alone is insufficient. Local institutions need predictable authority, resources and accountability. Citizens should be able to see the direct relationship between their participation and public outcomes. They should know who is responsible for their local school. Who controls the sanitation budget. Who is responsible for the local road. Who can be questioned about a failed public service. This is how people learn democracy. Citizenship is not taught only in classrooms. It is learned through practice.
Pakistan also needs a fundamental change in administrative culture. The civil servant must cease to see the citizen primarily as someone requiring permission. The citizen should be understood as the ultimate beneficiary of public administration. Every government department should therefore have clear service standards:
What service is provided?
Who is responsible?
How long should it take?
What documents are required?
What happens if the deadline is missed?
Where can a citizen complain?
Who reviews the complaint?
Digital government can help by reducing opportunities for arbitrary discretion and making procedures transparent. But technology alone will not solve the problem.
Nothing destroys faith in citizenship faster than the perception that justice is available to the powerful but inaccessible to ordinary people. The rule of law means little if a poor citizen cannot afford to pursue it. Pakistan therefore needs greater investment in accessible legal aid, judicial capacity, case management, alternative dispute resolution and mechanisms that reduce unnecessary delays. The law must be predictable. It must be impartial. And it must be capable of protecting the powerless from the powerful. Accountability must also be impartial. It cannot mean: “Punish my opponents.” It must mean: “Apply the law to everyone.” Selective accountability is not accountability. It is another form of patronage.
Pakistan cannot create a democratic culture through political parties that are themselves insufficiently democratic. Political parties should become institutions rather than vehicles for individual personalities. They need stronger internal elections, transparent finances, merit-based candidate selection, greater participation of women and young people, and meaningful policy platforms. A political party that demands democracy from the state but does not practise democracy internally reproduces the very culture it claims to oppose. Pakistan needs fewer personality cults and stronger political institutions. The citizen should support policies and principles — not surrender political agency to a personality.
Pakistan requires a strong, professional military. But democratic stability requires a clear constitutional division of responsibility. Parliament must exercise meaningful oversight. Civilian governments must develop stronger policy and security expertise. Political parties must stop treating the military as an instrument to be used against their opponents when convenient and as an institution to be condemned only when it acts against them. The principle must be consistent: Constitutional authority cannot depend on which political party happens to be in power. Civilian supremacy must be a democratic principle, not a partisan slogan.
The transformation cannot be imposed from above. Pakistan’s citizens must also change. For decades, many Pakistanis have learned to survive by navigating systems of patronage. That is understandable. When institutions fail, people find other ways to get things done. But survival strategies can eventually become political culture. The citizen must therefore reclaim agency. Not through violence. Not through hatred. Not through rejection of institutions. But through participation. Citizens must vote. But they must also monitor. They must elect representatives. But they must also question them. They must pay taxes. But they must demand transparency about public expenditure. They must obey lawful authority. But they must challenge unlawful authority. They must respect institutions. But institutions must respect the Constitution. This is what mature citizenship looks like.
The country does not necessarily need another political party. It needs a citizenship movement. Such a movement would be non-partisan. It would not exist to elect one leader or defeat another. Its purpose would be to establish a new relationship between citizens and the state. Its message could be extraordinarily simple: Know your rights; Know your institutions; Demand transparency; Participate locally; Hold representatives accountable; Defend the rights of those with whom you disagree. That last principle is particularly important. If I defend freedom only when my political party benefits, I am not defending citizenship. I am defending my faction.
The real test of citizenship is whether I defend the rights of people whose politics, religion, ethnicity or worldview may be completely different from mine. Citizenship is universal or it is not citizenship.
Pakistan ultimately needs a new social contract. For too long, the implicit relationship has often been: the state provides order. Citizens provide obedience. That relationship must become: the state protects rights, provides security and delivers accountable public services. Citizens participate, contribute and hold the state accountable. This is not anti-state. It is profoundly pro-state. A state becomes stronger when citizens trust it. Citizens trust institutions when those institutions are fair, predictable and accountable. Pakistan therefore, does not need a weak state. It needs a strong state with strong citizens.
Pakistan’s first independence was from foreign rule. Its second independence must be from the mindset of subjecthood. This does not mean rejecting Pakistan’s institutions or history. It means completing the transformation that independence began. The British may have left in 1947; but some of the assumptions of colonial governance remained: that officials know better than citizens; that authority should not be questioned; that order is more important than participation; that citizens should seek favours rather than demand rights; that the state stands above society. These assumptions must be challenged. Pakistan was not created simply to replace British rulers with Pakistani rulers. It was created to give its people political agency, security and dignity. That promise remains unfinished.
Pakistan’s greatest democratic challenge is therefore not simply electoral reform. It is the transformation of the relationship between the state and society. The country needs to move: from obedience to participation; from patronage to rights; from dependency to dignity; from secrecy to transparency; from impunity to accountability; from personality politics to institutional politics; from subjects seeking favours to citizens demanding justice. This transformation will not happen because one leader promises it. No single political party can deliver it. No institution can impose it. It requires a generational change in political culture. Pakistanis must begin to see themselves differently. Not as people living under a government. But as people who constitute the republic. Not as recipients of state benevolence. But as rights-bearing citizens. Not as subjects who must prove loyalty through obedience. But as citizens whose loyalty to Pakistan includes the right – and responsibility – to question those who govern it.
The Constitution provides the foundation. Institutions must provide the mechanisms. Civil society must provide pressure. Education must provide understanding. And citizens themselves must provide the demand for accountability. The ultimate measure of Pakistan’s democratic maturity should therefore not be how obedient its population is but rather it should be how empowered its citizens are. Not how effectively the state controls society; but how effectively it serves society; not how powerful rulers become, but how accountable they remain; and not whether Pakistan has citizens on paper, but whether an ordinary Pakistani – rich or poor, powerful or powerless, urban or rural, woman or man, majority or minority – can stand before the state and say: I am a citizen of Pakistan. I do not ask for favours. I claim my rights. I respect the Constitution, and I expect the state to respect it too. This is not rebellion; this is citizenship.
After nearly eight decades of independence, it is time for Pakistan to complete the journey that began in 1947. The British ruler is gone. The flag is ours. The country is ours. Now the state must become ours too. This means recognising a truth that should never have been forgotten: the people of Pakistan are not subjects of Pakistan; Pakistan exists to serve its citizens! That is the unfinished promise of independence and fulfilling it may be the most important national project of the next generation.