Pakistan does not suffer from a shortage of talent or resources. What it lacks is the collective political will to place public welfare above personal and partisan interests. As the old saying goes, where there is a will, there is a way. The challenge before the nation is not finding the way; it is finding the will.
Analysis
Ansar Mahmood Bhatti
ISLAMABAD: The heartbreaking tragedy in Peshawar on October 15, 2026, where more than 30 innocent schoolchildren lost their lives after the roof of a school collapsed and dozens of others were injured, is not merely an accident. It is a grim reflection of the state of governance in Pakistan. It is a painful reminder of official negligence, administrative failure, and a system that has long ceased to view the ordinary citizen as its primary responsibility.
While rescue workers struggled to save trapped children and parents anxiously waited for news of their loved ones, our political class remained engaged in its routine power games. On the very day when the nation should have paused to mourn and focus entirely on relief efforts, parliament continued debating and approving the emergency situation in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. At the very least, the proceedings should have been deferred as a mark of respect and solidarity with the grieving families.
Such insensitivity exposes the widening disconnect between rulers and the people. It raises a troubling question: Do the lives of ordinary Pakistanis matter to those who govern them?
The tragedy is not confined to Peshawar. It is symbolic of a larger national crisis. Across Pakistan, millions of citizens are deprived of basic facilities, including safe schools, quality healthcare, clean drinking water, and reliable infrastructure. Buildings collapse, roads deteriorate, hospitals lack essential medicines, and educational institutions operate without proper safety standards. Yet political leaders remain preoccupied with elections, alliances, rivalries, and media appearances.
The unfortunate reality is that politicians seek votes from these very people, make tall promises during election campaigns, and then abandon them once they assume power. Public service has increasingly been replaced by political survival. Governance has become secondary, while power remains the ultimate objective.
In this context, Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi’s observation that “the system has collapsed” deserves serious attention. When such a statement comes from a senior government functionary occupying one of the most important offices in the country, it carries significant weight. It is not a criticism from the opposition or a complaint from civil society. It is an admission from within the corridors of power itself.
If the system has indeed collapsed, the question is: who will rebuild it?
No force prevents our leaders from curbing corruption. No one stops them from ensuring transparency and accountability. No one prevents them from introducing merit-based recruitment, strengthening institutions, or delivering good governance. Likewise, nobody compels them to tolerate nepotism, favoritism, incompetence, and inequality. The obstacles are not external; they lie within the political culture that has dominated Pakistan for decades.
Every government comes to power promising change. Every administration pledges reforms. Yet the same patterns continue. The culture of patronage remains intact. Merit suffers at the hands of connections. Public resources are wasted while development projects become avenues for political point-scoring rather than public welfare.
The victims of this failed system are not the powerful. They are the ordinary citizens. They are the farmers, laborers, teachers, shopkeepers, and, most tragically, innocent children sitting in unsafe classrooms.
The Peshawar school tragedy should therefore not be viewed merely as a structural failure resulting in the collapse of a building. It represents the collapse of priorities. A roof fell because responsibility had already collapsed long before the concrete gave way.
These children were not statistics. They were dreams waiting to be realized. Among them could have been future doctors, engineers, scientists, teachers, diplomats, and leaders. Their deaths are not just a loss for their families; they are a loss for Pakistan’s future. A nation that cannot protect its children cannot claim to be progressing. Economic indicators, political speeches, and development slogans lose their meaning when schoolchildren are unsafe in the very institutions meant to nurture them.
Pakistan does not suffer from a shortage of talent or resources. What it lacks is the collective political will to place public welfare above personal and partisan interests. As the old saying goes, where there is a will, there is a way. The challenge before the nation is not finding the way; it is finding the will.
The rubble in Peshawar should not only bury the innocent victims. It should bury complacency, indifference, and the politics of neglect. If this tragedy fails to inspire serious reform, then more buildings may collapse in the future, but what will truly crumble is the public’s faith in the state itself.
The children of Peshawar deserved better. Pakistan’s future deserved better. And the nation must now ask whether its leaders are prepared to do better !!
