Dr. Ikramul Haq & Engineer Arshad H Abbasi
Once, Pakistan’s bureaucracy stood as a pillar of governance in the sixties, entrusted with the nation’s future. Today, that edifice is crumbling—its foundations weakened by decades of decay. A recent statement by a politician stirred a bitter truth: for many of our senior bureaucrats, the journey after retirement leads not to think-tanks or the written memoirs of a service life, but to the comfortable shores of the West, where they live out their days in ease, far removed from the country they once swore to serve.
In other lands, retired civil servants continue to guide their nations—offering wisdom, shaping policy, preserving institutional memory. Our bureaucracy, particularly the Pakistan Administrative Services (PAS), erstwhile District Management Group (DMG), the elite (sic) of Central Superior Services (CSS), found themselves ensnared in a web of corruption, political interference, and hollow accountability. One of the reasons is that officers of the PAS group serve as assistant and deputy commissioners (ACs and DCs). These posts, since the British Raj, give eminence, authority and financial power with extraordinary protocol. Yet these PAS officers get power, deal with land records, control over housing Authorities and the revenue system.
Patwari, a low-rank but “powerful” land revenue official responsible for maintaining land records, is considered among the most corrupt officials in Pakistan. So these, ACs or DCs also act as the controller of land revenues and record. So such bureaucrats who dealt with land records and Patwaris became hostages of the status quo. A tragic irony for a country called the “land of the pure”: while the world has embraced digitalization to curb errors, prevent malpractices, and ensure transparency, Pakistan still lags—its land records trapped in outdated, manual systems, managed by corrupt Patwaris instead of a few simple taps on a screen. The incomplete and faulty process of computerization of land records in various provinces has failed to take away the unfettered powers of land revenue officers.
In Pakistan’s bureaucratic tradition, the “note sheet” remains more than just a piece of paper in any official file—it was the living memory of governance. Each line bore the weight of deliberation, each margin the trace of disciplined thought. These documents recorded the careful exchange of ideas, the measured shaping of policy, and the sober decisions that guided the nation’s path.
Those who have the chance to visit the National Archives Centre in Islamabad should turn the fragile pages of projects or policy matter files from the 1950s to 1970s. There, in the faded ink of old note sheets, one can witness a different kind of civil servants—trained not merely in technicalities, but in the art of governance itself. They displayed a mastery of formal rules, a deep respect for hierarchical order, expertise in their fields, and above all, an impersonal, objective commitment to the public good.
It is a haunting exercise to compare that legacy with the bureaucracy of the 21st century. Today’s officers sit before laptops, armed with MS Office and an arsenal of modern software tools meant to amplify skill and efficiency. Yet, too often, these tools mask a hollowness where intellectual rigour once lived. This is not a comparison with other nations, but with ourselves—our own past, when the bureaucracy helped sustain economic growth above 8%, steering a young Pakistan toward promise and progress. Now, the note sheets may be cleaner, faster, and digital, but the depth of thought, the precision of judgment, and the steadfast devotion to the nation’s interest have faded.
What was once a proud institution—built on intellect, discipline, and service—now stands diminished, its decline chronicled in the very documents that once testified to its greatness.
Is it an issue with the training? Not at all. Most of the bureaucrats are trained in the best institutions of the world. The promise of their training was squandered, for technical knowledge could not withstand the rot of a system where public duty and private gain became hopelessly entwined. Where do things go wrong?
After 1985, politicians started putting money into the election. When politicians spend millions or billions to win an electoral seat and when they become ministers or prime ministers, they are looking for their loyal bureaucrats so that they not only get back the money spent on the election, but also extra funds so that their grandchildren can also win the election. Here is a conducive environment and a lusty bureaucrat is waiting far, particularly for those who started their career in dealing with land records and Patwari.
The latest trend seen in the unholy nexus of this bureaucracy and politicians is some rotten element of the Media. Leave the credibility of National Accountability Bureau (NAB), that is itself, but when a former minister on the liquefied natural gas (LNG) deal, there is huge hue and cry in the media, but now, when the post evaluation of the LNG deal shows the truth, this deal caused damage to Pakistan to the tune of US$22 billion. Now these media mercenaries are keeping mum.
Corruption bled into the arteries of governance—bribery, embezzlement, and the casual plundering of public funds became routine. Institutions meant to safeguard integrity, like the NAB, Auditor General of Pakistan, Public Accounts Committee, Anti Anti-Corruption now themselves become huge burden on over 250 million Pakistanis. Meritocracy was sacrificed to patronage, and appointments became spoils of political bargaining.
In 2008, one of us [engineer AHA] struck at the heart of Pakistan’s entrenched corruption, placing every Public Sector Development Programme (PSDP) project of the Planning Commission online for real-time, nationwide monitoring—promising total transparency and the end of graft. It could have transformed governance, but power brokers killed the reform, punishing AHA not as a hero, but as a threat. His only crime: daring to make corruption impossible. Seventeen long years have passed, and the wound remains open. No one in government dares even whisper of such reform. The vision that could have shielded billions of rupees from plunder lies buried, not because it was flawed, but because it was too pure for the poisoned soil in which it was planted.
In killing that invention, they did more than silence one man—they robbed an entire nation of the chance to be better. And so, Pakistan continues its weary march through the shadows, while the ghost of a murdered idea lingers, reminding us of what might have been.
Thus, piece by piece, the bureaucracy’s capacity dissolved. What was once an engine for national development and administrative efficiency became a shadow of itself—unable to deliver, unable to reform—its promise buried under the weight of corruption, politics, and a tragic loss of purpose. What is the solution then? When politicians use the latest and most expensive mobiles in their hands but never try to bring the development projects monitoring and their quality and quantity online for real-time monitoring to check the corruption and cost overrun.
Yet the more horrific storm for the bureaucracy and corrupt politicians is Artificial Intelligence. We do not to break the news, but may 70% work it is already completed by some sane experts. Soon, 250 million will bail out from the cruel clutches of corrupt bureaucrats and politicians.
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Dr. Ikramul Haq, Advocate Supreme Court, Adjunct Faculty at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), member Advisory Board and Visiting Senior Fellow of Pakistan Institute of Development Economics (PIDE), holds LLD in tax laws. He was full-time journalist from 1979 to 1984 with Viewpoint and Dawn. He also served Civil Services of Pakistan from 1984 to 1996.
Engineer Arshad H. Abbasi, water and climate change expert, is co-founder of Energy Excellence Centres at NUST and UET Peshawar