A paradox haunts Pakistan’s story of development: despite its industrial corridors, potential, and fertile landscapes, the nation remains persistently faulty in its realisation. Factories stand tall as monuments to half-realised ambitions, with their machinery idle and outdated. Every new initiative is heralded but rarely institutionalised. This paradox raises urgent questions about governance, political management and foresight.
When gold medallist Arshad Nadeem returned after breaking the world record in javelin, the government welcomed him with open arms and awarded him the Hilal-e-Imtiaz and cash rewards, among many other things. The criticism that followed the news focused on the prior ignorance of the government in supporting such athletes. Chronic underfunding, the ban on departmental sports, and bureaucratic mismanagement by the Pakistan Sports Board have left competitors in sports other than cricket to face poverty, obsolete training methods, and cancelled tournament appearances.
This was apparent when the video of former Pakistani footballer Mohammad Riaz surfaced on the web, illuminating the failure of the government to support sports at the organisational level other than cricket, which is another heartbreaking tale on its own at this point. Why does Pakistan only recognise excellence after it has been achieved, rather than investing in structures that make excellence possible?
Pakistan’s industries too remain chronically underutilised. When the new Adidas Tang jackets are not sold locally yet, the tags point to them being made in Pakistan. A question arises: does Pakistan fully comprehend the chronic underutilisation of its industrial and natural resource base, ranging from factories to high-value agricultural outputs, and does it reveal deeper structural contradictions between abundance and neglect?
The country’s incapacity to turn latent wealth into sustainable income is evident in 22-billion-tonne reserves of pink salt in Khewra that earn less than 1% of their revenue and yet produce 98% of pink salt for 90+ countries in raw form for $60 – $80 per tonne. It is currently worth 13 billion, but none of that is being translated into real capital. Similarly, factories continue to operate below capacity and remain trapped in cycles of insufficiency due to outdated technology.
The spectacle of resources left dormant is apparent in the northern areas of Pakistan, where the jewelled attractions are repeatedly devastated by floods, along with the roads exposing the fragility of the infrastructure that is invested in every year, yet still the whole area manages to slip further into poverty, unlike the death toll of civilians, which keeps increasing. The squandered potential also mitigates the confidence of the investors, further plummeting the region’s resources.
Will the population be able to emerge from the recurring devastation of its northern landscapes into the possibility of building a resilient tourism economy that redefines the nation’s global image? The once much-debated project, CPEC, has become an emblem for Pakistan’s inability to grasp its opportunities well. Political inertia and uneven implementation have also staggered the envisioned transformative artery of connectivity and industrial growth. Will periodic devastation manage to erode national confidence?
Pakistan’s resources are not absent. They are visible and are rhetorically heralded, yet they remain locked in a liminal space that exists between potential and realisation. Pakistan’s 1050-km coastline hides a $17 billion industry of seaweed. Scientists have identified over 200 species of seaweed. The plant used worldwide, not just in food but in medicines and skincare as well, is present in Baluchistan, yet the exports only amount to $2 billion a year. Are these resources neglected or a symptom of elite capture and the absence of proper governance?
This demonstrates that it may be prime time that Pakistan stops relying on the fisheries industry, rife with corruption, or on the already crippled agricultural economy, which is restricted due to limited funding provided for enhancing technical skills in rural females, who constitute 68% of the working labour. Why does a country with such strategic assets, fertile lands and globally marketed tourism fail to convert them into engines of sustainable modernity?
To explain this, let’s take a look at an emerging trend. A high-value agricultural sector product with massive, untapped potential: lavender. Despite ideal climatic conditions in Gilgit Baltistan, Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK), and KPK for cultivation, there is virtually no commercial-scale production of lavender oil at scale, and the domestic demand is currently met almost entirely through imports from Bulgaria, France, Morocco, and China. Pakistan possesses ideal terrain and high-altitude microclimates perfect for thriving, high-yielding lavender crops, but the lack of industries and training hampers the manufacturing ability.
These recurring cycles of failing implementation expose the absence of foresight and visionary governance. Why does Pakistan’s ambition dissolve into crisis? The answer plaintively lies in the hands of the elites who hold the resources and use them for short-term gains rather than structural reform. To move beyond this paradox. Pakistan must embrace resilience and invest in long-term, climate-proof infrastructure, modernise its industrial base and introduce local businesses into the international market instead of drowning in imports. The greatest challenge is not scarcity but squandered abundance. The resources are present, and the choice is stark; either we harness abundance for sustainable purposes or remain haunted by what we refuse to use effectively.