“The powers that be are ordained by God.”
(Holy Bible, Romans 13:1)
Social media today feels like an open battlefield. Recently, a man posted a video full of curses directed at top officials of the Punjab Government and the Army. Eventually, he felt shame and apologised publicly. But words, once set loose, are like wild animals—they run where they please. And in the wrong hands, especially those working from abroad to serve their own agendas, they become even more dangerous.
I am reminded of a story from another time. Nawab Amir Mohammad Khan, then Governor of West Pakistan, once saw an abusive sentence scrawled against him on a wall near the Governor House in Lahore. He instructed his staff to find the culprit. Soon, a young man stood before him. The Governor asked calmly: “Did anyone in power wrong you? Did any officer harm your family?” The man admitted, “No.” He was then handed to the police for legal action. There was accountability—but also dignity.
Compare that with today’s chaos. Abuse comes cheap, law feels distant, and systems rot silently. Take Lahore’s flooding as an example. Rain is a blessing from God, but our city turns into a drowning bowl. Why? Because the natural flow of water—once carried by the Ravi and Sutlej—has been blocked by housing colonies. Our drains, choked with garbage we throw every day, fail us. I remember visiting Singapore in 1992. While talking with friends, I saw a well-dressed man pick up paper from a drain and put it in a bin. That man, I learned, was a minister. Order begins with small acts of responsibility—keeping the flow clear. Ask yourself: when was the last time you unclogged the drain outside your home?
History also reminds us that words have weight. Years ago, a subeditor at The Sun newspaper accidentally printed an insult next to President Zia-ul-Haq’s name. Punishment was swift. Zia forgave the insult against himself but remarked: “Had it been against the Commander-in-Chief, I would never have pardoned it.” The newspaper didn’t survive the backlash. Words, once printed, cannot be taken back.
Power is not permanent—but it is sacred. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto once ruled unchallenged, yet when his authority cracked, the country shook. On 5 July 1977, the Army Chief he had appointed removed him in what was declared the “welfare of the nation.” Governments fall, leaders change, but the principle remains: authority exists for order, and order sustains life.
Scripture puts it plainly:
“Whosoever resists the power resists the ordinance of God; and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.” (Romans 13:2)
This is not a call to accept injustice silently. It is a reminder to respect the law, to value governance, to choose responsibility over chaos. Because when we curse those in power, block our own drains, and kill our rivers, we curse ourselves.
If rivers flowed, so would our drains. If order flowed, so would peace. And if respect flowed, so would blessings.
