IN 2025, amid technological advancement and a growing global discourse on rights and equity, one might expect the legal profession in Pakistan to reflect some of these values. However, certain stakeholders continue to exploit young legal talent, openly and unapologetically.

Just the other day, I came across an ad placed by a well-known organisation seeking interns for six weeks, with no stipend, no compensation whatsoever, offering ‘mentorship’ and ‘exposure’, instead.

From the perspective of a fresh law graduate — often overwhelmed, uncertain, and desperate to gain a foothold — such an opportunity might seem too important to pass up. And that is precisely the problem. At the most vulnerable stage of their professional lives, when they are eager to learn and contribute, they are met with a culture that normalises unpaid labour in the name of exposure.

Generally speaking, internships, when done right, can be invaluable. Empirical studies have consistently shown that graduates with meaningful experience tend to have better career outcomes and greater professional readiness.

Our legal sector persists in normalising unpaid labour.

However, this truth only holds when internships are structured ethically, with fair compensation and genuine mentorship. Unpaid internship labour, as it stands in many parts of Pakistan’s legal landscape, is a modern form of oppression — a practice that exploits enthusiasm and necessity under the veneer of opportunity.

Given how broken the legal job market already is, where even paid positions often fail to meet basic thresholds of fair compensation, is it reasonable to expect young graduates to travel across the city, incur daily expenses of fuel and food, and dedicate their time and effort — all without the slightest financial support? In tangible terms, what exactly is being offered in return?

Of course, in some cases, unpaid internships may lead to a full-time job, but such outcomes are the exception, not the rule. For every intern who is eventually absorbed into the organisation, there are many more who are quietly cycled out once their ‘learning opportunity’ ends, replaced by the next batch of hopefuls. The question to be asked: are we nurturing talent, or simply harvesting free labour masked as noble intent? Is this exposure, or simply exploitation repackaged as opportunity? It is imperative to raise these uncomfortable yet necessary principled questions.

What’s more troubling is the silence, or in some cases, tacit endorsement of these practices by the very institutions tasked with upholding professional standards. Bar councils, law societies, and legal chambers rarely comment on such exploitative arrangements, let alone intervene. In some cases, they are beneficiaries of the same system, where interns are expected to manage files, draft documents, or assist in court — all without pay, and often without structured guidance or training.

The normalisation of unpaid work is not just the result of individual choices; it is a practice deeply engraved in the way the legal profession is structured and governed. Meanwhile, the profession continues to celebrate the idea of ‘struggle’ and ‘sacrifice’, conveniently ignoring the structural privilege that allows some to struggle more comfortably than others.

If we truly believe in reforming our institutions, we must also ask: what can we learn from those who have begun to do better? Against this backdrop, it is worth examining how other jurisdictions are confronting unpaid internships. While, admittedly, the US and UK have taken further strides in formalising legal protections around internships, even countries with few­er resources, like South Africa, have recognised the ne­­­-ed for impactful re­­form. Their efforts to combine at least minimal financial support with structured mentorship programmes makes it clear that addressing exploitation is less about economic capacity and more about a commitment to fairness. Meanwhile, Pakistan’s legal sector persists in normalising unpaid labour without oversight, leaving young talent to navigate a system that offers little more than empty promises.

It all boils down to our own conscience; and what we make of getting work done by fresh graduates desperately seeking any opportunity that comes their way. At the end of the day, this isn’t just about stipends. It’s about the kind of profession we choose to shape: one that either nurtures its future or quietly feeds on it. The time for polite discomfort, I believe, has passed. It is time to call it what it is: exploitation — and to demand better.

If we cannot pay the next generation, then let us at least have the honesty to stop dressing up exploitation as opportunity, and the decency to demand better.

The writer is a lawyer based in Lahore.

Published in Dawn, June 2nd, 2025