Editorial
Pakistan has a curious habit of treating its Constitution like a private document. Governments draft amendments, negotiate their passage through backroom deals, and present the public with a fait accompli. No hearings. No town halls. No national conversation. The Constitution — the supreme law of the land, the bedrock of the federal compact — is altered as though it were a routine administrative circular.
Compare this with any functioning democracy. In the United States, even a minor legislative proposal invites congressional hearings, expert testimony, media scrutiny, and public comment. In India, constitutional amendments provoke nationwide debate that spills from Parliament into the streets. Citizens may disagree, but they know. They are part of the conversation. In Pakistan, most citizens learn about constitutional changes after they have already happened — if they learn at all.
This is not a technicality. The Constitution is the federal contract between the state and its federating units. Every amendment touching federal-provincial relations, the distribution of powers, the structure of institutions, or fundamental rights directly affects every citizen of this country. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa has as much stake in these questions as Islamabad. Balochistan’s concerns cannot be negotiated away in a Lahore drawing room. Yet that is precisely how these decisions are made.
The consequences are visible. Provinces feel alienated. Citizens feel governed, not represented. And when the state eventually calls upon the public to rally behind it, it finds a cold silence — the price of decades of exclusion.
Before any constitutional amendment is placed before Parliament, a structured national debate must precede it. Public hearings, provincial consultations, legislative committee deliberations open to civil society — these are not luxuries. They are the minimum conditions for democratic legitimacy. A federation survives on consent. Manufacture it through silence, and you build on sand.
