“Mubarak ho! beti/beta peda hoa hai.” For every parent, these words are the most joyful moments of life. A child is born into a world of possibilities, enveloped with love, sincere and deep, from their parents since the beginning.
Our parents showcase this love even before we are born — the colourful clothes, the very cute but barely worn pair of shoes and various toys they begin buying as soon as our arrival is announced. It’s evident that from the very beginning, love is abundant.
Our parents pour their love into the one thing they consider the most important for us: our education.
In this world of uncertainty and extreme competition, education is perhaps the only tool that is a safe investment, allowing us to make our space in it. Hence, our parents pour their souls, hard work, and money into funding our education, convinced that schooling will carve out a wonderful life ahead of us. But what if I told you that the very system they believe in is rigged? The very system they invest their souls in has no space for a thinking, feeling child.
Government Schools: Cage in the Name of Enlightenment
Our education system is perhaps among the worst in the world. Ordained by the government, it is perhaps the greatest evidence of my claim. Most schools are barely functional, and among those that do operate, they impose a form of lifetime imprisonment — both mentally and financially.
From the moment the child enters school, curiosity becomes the noose that slowly strangles the child who tries to hold on to it. The system demands complete submission, and thus, questions are discouraged. The textbook takes on a sacred status, and any deviation from it is viewed as a grave sin.
The outdated syllabus, the incompetent teachers, and the absence of accountability clearly indicate that there is no space for innovation. Curiosity becomes a distraction, while the sole goal of education becomes memorisation.
Early on, the very foundation of scientific discovery and literary excellence, critical thinking, becomes paralysed. The classrooms are mostly empty, but of those who come, they gain nothing but obedience — enough to keep them alive, yet slaves to a system that has played a dirty trick on them.
Private Education: For the Privileged by the Privileged
Approximately 25 million children are out of school, with only 2.7 million children enrolled in private schools (as per Urdu Point). As compared to government schools, private schools are perhaps much more refined. Affiliated with the British education system, it promises to deliver a bright future.
But this promise is highly selective.
Private education in Pakistan is not designed for the majority — it is built by the privileged, for the privileged. Extremely high fees and constant financial pressure — with most families having more than two kids — make these schools inaccessible to most. Education becomes a commodity rather than a right.
Even within these institutions, success is narrowly defined. Students are trained to score well and speak polished English to prepare them for a life abroad. Cultural grounding and original inquiry rooted in curiosity remain secondary to grades and foreign validation. The system prepares students to perform well, not necessarily to think well.
These private institutions operate with the same principle as our government schools: obedience — only this time, it is tailored for foreign approval.
Politics: Where It All Began
In all of this, one thing remains constant: intellectual suffocation.
Whether through government schools, private institutions, or policies, the system leaves no room for ideas. Innovation demands time, patience, failure, and protection — luxuries Pakistan and this highly critical society can’t afford nor can offer its thinkers. From classrooms to politics itself, originality is treated as an inconvenience.
Our politics reflects the same hostility toward thought. Since independence, Pakistan has witnessed a relentless game of musical chairs — power shifting hands and wealth among the same elite while progress remains stationary, lost amidst the power dynamics.
Policy-making lacks continuity, vision, and long-term commitment. Research, arts, and intellectual labour are the first casualties and compromises of political instability.
Pakistan’s spending on education remains far below global standards and is just 0.8 per cent of the country’s GDP — far below the UNESCO recommendation of 4%–6% of GDP. In 2025, education-related spending dropped significantly by 29.4 per cent, falling to Rs 899.6 billion from Rs 1,251.06 billion the previous year.
So, instead of improving and considering education a crisis, the administration has instead decided to cut funds for labs, research, and libraries and invest in new and innovative books. This decision has resulted in an emerging epidemic that is gradually depleting our country’s resources.
The Cultural Tragedy
The tragedy deepens when culture joins the suppression.
As a society, we lack patience for work, processing, and growth. Parents expect immediate results: top grades, prestigious degrees, and quick employment. There is little tolerance for uncertainty, experimentation, or paths that do not guarantee instant success, with most dreading the ‘failed’ child. A child who wants to research, write, invent, or question is often asked the same thing:
“Is mein scope hai?”
“Agar fail hogai tou kya karogai?”
Extraordinary achievement, by nature, is slow and lonely and asks for relentless patience. Isaac Newton’s ideas took 20–40 years to refine, and proving and publishing his work took 20–40 years. J.K. Rowling was rejected 12 times, and it took 17 years to finish her world-renowned Harry Potter series.
All these great minds, and countless more, had one thing in common: years of invisible effort, unrecognised labour, repeated failure and pure, relentless passion.
But in a culture obsessed with quick outcomes and social validation, such patience is rare. But can you really blame them? As Zakir Khan famously said, “Hamarai ma baap hamarai khuwaboo kai khilaf nahi hain; wo bas hamai gareeb nahi dekhna chahtai.”
It’s the fear of the world and the generations of conditioning that breed such resentment of risk.
Conclusion
The prevailing ecosystem produces survivors, not pioneers. Our scientists are forced to abandon research for stability. Our writers, those who dare to think independently, censor themselves for acceptance and at times their lives.
Nobel Prizes are not merely awards; they represent a society and system of values that has learnt to respect and protect curiosity and innovation and consider failure as a sign of brilliance itself. Until Pakistan regards education as a crisis and works on it, our best minds will continue to remain unseen.
The question that remains is not why Pakistan has never won a Nobel Prize. The real question is: how many potential Nobel laureates have we already lost? And most importantly, how many are we willing to lose?
But after all this…is there any hope?
The simple answer is: yes.
Despite the prevailing catastrophe, resistance exists.
If you explore, you’ll encounter teachers who encourage questioning and inculcate critical thinking, researchers who pursue and question despite the absence of funding, and students who choose curiosity even when criticised.
Through social media, we witness many education initiatives and learning communities that quietly challenge the system every day and play a silent yet important role in our educational landscape.
These efforts may not produce Nobel Prizes — yet — but they keep intellectual defiance alive. They prove that the problem is not a lack of talent or will, but the absence of a system willing to protect and consider such resistance as the beginning of a new revolution.