EACH time we think Pakistan’s international image can sink no lower, we somehow manage to plumb new depths. Over the years, we have come to occupy the unenviable position of being the most unpopular travel destination in the world. Even countries we have long regarded as our closest friends and allies view us with suspicion and loathing.

According to the Pew Research Centre, only 31 per cent of the Chinese respondents in its survey had a good opinion of Pakistan. Figures fall even lower across most of the Muslim world. Only in Turkey do around 47 per cent have a good opinion of Pakistan, against the 41 per cent with a negative view.

So why are we so universally disliked? Many conspiracy theorists – a breed rapidly multiplying around the country — are convinced that it’s because the world sees us a strong, nuclear-armed Muslim country. But then why should other Muslim states have such a negative view of us? If we are indeed the ‘fortress of Islam’ as so many of our TV studio warriors claim, then surely our stock ought to be higher among the ummah.

Certainly, our faith is part of the image problem in the West: according to one survey, 75 per cent of Americans surveyed said that Islam was the most violent of all religions. In another survey conducted in 2005, 74 per cent of Americans were of the view that Pakistan was the most likely state to transfer nuclear technology.

From AQ Khan’s nuclear bazaar to our tolerance of jihadi groups operating on our soil against international and regional targets, we have built up a sorry image for ourselves. Increasingly, the world sees us as the primary source of global terrorism, and only wishes we could somehow just go away. From illegal immigrants to drug traffickers to terrorists, Pakistanis have a terrible reputation.

In the UK, the last few months have seen a parade of criminals of Pakistani origin who have been convicted of raping vulnerable, underage girls in state care over a period of years. These nasty, widely covered cases of exploitation by married men in their 30s and 40s sent a wave of revulsion across the country.

And with depressing frequency, young Britons of Pakistani parentage have been accused and convicted of involvement in terrorist plots. Images of heavily bearded men and burqa-clad women demonstrating against some obscure publication having allegedly committed blasphemy are common fare on TV screens; all too often, the spokesman is of Pakistani origin.

Against this dreary background of violence and extremism, good news from Pakistan, admittedly is as rare as hen’s teeth, gets overlooked. The recent elections that saw the peaceful transfer of power from one elected government to the next were largely ignored, given events in the Middle East. However, speaking at a packed auditorium in London’s School for Oriental and African studies recently, Declan Walsh reminded the audience of the significance of the event.

Readers will recall that Declan was the Pakistan bureau chief for the New York Times until his visa was suddenly cancelled on the eve of the May elections. Although he did mention his expulsion, he did not dwell on its injustice. He did, however, highlight his affection for Pakistan, and spoke warmly of the many friends he had made there.

Declan has reported from Pakistan for nine years, first for the Guardian and then for the New York Times. In this period, he has come to understand the country better than any foreign correspondent I have met. He has an unparalleled network of friends and contacts across the country, and has travelled extensively to remote areas most Pakistani journalists are unfamiliar with. He could easily have used his talk to attack those who threw him out of the country, but chose not to.

The talk was about how power was shared between the President, Chief Justice and Army chief, and how authority has ebbed from the army to other centres. His analysis of the rise of the judiciary was particularly fascinating. He concluded by praising the increasing maturity of the political system.

In the question and answer session, Declan also spoke about the power of the electronic media, and how Pakistan was one of the most dangerous countries in the world for journalists. Talking about Karachi, he mentioned the increasing numbers of Pushtun migrants, and the implication of the city’s changing demographics for the MQM. In particular, he highlighted the worrying presence and muscle of the Pakistani Taliban in Karachi.

A deeply disquieting fact he brought up was that in Pakistan, only around 9 per cent of murder cases resulted in convictions. As we know all too well, most terror suspects are freed on bail, or released on grounds of insufficient evidence. Some have walked out despite being in possession of unregistered firearms, and having been accused of earlier terrorist attacks. No wonder our law enforcement and judicial system command no fear among criminals.

Although he highlighted many of the problems Pakistan faces, Declan has not joined the chorus of Western voices that have written the country off as a failed state. Even when he was reporting from Pakistan, he often saw the irony and the humour of the situation. This is more than a lot of Pakistani journalists have managed to do.

While mentioning the many allegations of corruption levelled against Asif Zardari in his five years as President, Declan made the point that none of his many detractors had come up with any proof of financial misconduct during his tenure. Talking about the Memogate controversy, he reminded us that for a few weeks, there was intense drama (‘tamasha’ was the word he used) over the incident, and then it disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced.

A few years ago, the whole thing could well have resulted in a coup, but under General Kayani, the army has maintained a distance from the political arena. Given his objective and very professional reporting from Pakistan over the years, if I were Nawaz Sharif, I would invite Declan Walsh back to Pakistan, and give him a medal.