AS Pakistan begins its 79th year of existence, new promises echo once again through official corridors. Economic roadmaps are unveiled, foreign direct investment is courted, and reforms are pledged. Yet beneath the surface, the foundation is unstable, riddled with cracks in governance, institutional decay, and a system that continues to fail its most vulnerable: its youth.

A robust economy cannot rise on the shifting sands of compromised institutions. It must be rooted like the orchards of Swat: firm, nurtured, and protected. Otherwise, it withers.

From the windswept deserts of Thar to the lush green fields of Punjab; from the towering mountains of Gilgit-Baltistan to the fishing villages that dot the Makran coast, the land tells stories of resilience. The people do too. But they are growing tired. The young farmer in Dadu, the coder in Karachi, the textile worker in Faisalabad, and the aspiring civil servant in Multan all dream of progress, but live within a system that asks them to survive rather than thrive.

At the heart of the issue lies the integrity of institutions. The civil service, the judiciary, tax authorities, law enforcement, and regulators. These are the rivers that irrigate economic life. But when those rivers are clogged with corruption, favouritism, and inefficiency, the economy becomes a drought-stricken plain, no matter how heavy the policy rains may fall.

New policies layered over old decay will not save Pakistan’s economy. Only structural, institutional reform will.

This is not just a metaphor. Look, for instance, at Bahawalpur, where centuries-old irrigation channels once brought life to entire regions. Today, those canals run silted and broken, much like the governance that oversees them. Infrastructure without maintenance. Laws without enforcement. Youth without pathways. These are the silent crises that accumulate when institutions fail.

And yet, every year, fresh policy is painted across the cracked ceiling, much like the fading mural of Sadequain in Karachi’s Frere Hall: a masterpiece weathered by time, dust, and neglect. Still standing, but barely. New policies layered over old decay will not save Pakistan’s economy. Only structural, institutional reform will.

Pakistan does not exist in a vacuum. It holds a unique position on the geopolitical chessboard bridging South Asia, Central Asia, and the Middle East. It is a nuclear power with a military that garners respect and strategic partnerships far beyond its borders. This recognition, often leveraged to gain international security cooperation and development aid, must now be matched by an internal strategy that fortifies civilian institutions with the same intent and seriousness used in external defence policy.

Diplomatic capital and military stature may open doors in Washington, Riyadh, and Beijing; but lasting stability and prosperity depend on whether those gains are translated into institutional strength at home. The same focus that earns Pakistan a seat at global forums should be directed toward reforming the very systems that affect daily life for its citizens. Recognition abroad must become a lever for renewal within.

Equally vital is the strength of Pakistan’s diaspora: millions of Pakistanis living and working across North America, the Gulf, Europe, and beyond. They contribute billions in remittances and serve as informal ambassadors of culture, community, and potential. Yet many remain disconnected from the idea of Pakistan as a place of opportunity, rather than nostalgia or obligation. This disconnection is not due to distance alone; it stems from a fractured sense of national identity, weakened by the very dysfunction they fled.

When institutions at home are weak, the identity projected abroad is defensive, fragmented, and often burdened by political baggage. But when governance is principled and opportunity is genuine, a common civic identity can begin to emerge: one that unites the diaspora not only through sentiment, but through participation and pride. Strengthening institutions will not only bring investment from abroad, it will rebuild the cultural and emotional contract between Pakistan and its global citizens.

Consider the reality faced by Pakistan’s youth, who make up 65 per cent of the population. These are not just numbers on a chart. They are real lives and aspirations scattered across this vast, diverse land. A girl in Khuzdar with top marks in science cannot find a university with working labs. A boy in Peshawar trains in IT but faces extortion when trying to start his own business. The entrepreneur in Lahore sees his innovation stifled, not by market forces, but by inconsistent regulatory enforcement and rent-seeking officials.

And across the country, women continue to be underrepresented in nearly every sector that shapes national direction. From boardrooms to ballots, their exclusion is both a symptom and cause of institutional weakness. Gender equity is not a social side issue. It is central to economic resilience. Empowering women to participate fully in civic and economic life isn’t just about fairness; it’s about unleashing half the nation’s talent and potential.

Women are often the first to bear the brunt of institutional failure, yet they are also among the first to organise, resist, and rebuild; from rural educators in Sindh to start-up founders in Islamabad. The future will not be built unless it includes their voices, protects their rights, and clears the barriers that keep them out of decision-making spaces.

This is not an economy that is failing by chance. It is a system designed to protect the powerful and disorient the rest. Foreign investors know this, too. They are less concerned with Pakistan’s potential (of which there is plenty) and more with the rules of the game. Can contracts be enforced? Are taxes predictable? Will courts intervene fairly or politically? Until the answers are clear, capital will continue to hesitate, and so will hope.

There are glimpses of what could be. Along Multan Road, soybean processing plants hint at what an agricultural-industrial link might become with proper support. The runways of Karachi’s airport, constructed with global standards, show that when competence is prioritised, Pakistan can meet any benchmark. But these are outliers. Not norms.

To truly move forward, Pakistan must invest not just in infrastructure, but in the scaffolding of governance: independent appointments in regulatory bodies; transparent digitisation of tax and judicial systems; police reforms that prioritise citizen trust; and educational institutions that reward merit over connections. These are not abstract ideals. They are the load-bearing walls of economic resilience.

Pakistan’s young people are like the mighty River Sindhu. Originating in the icy vastness of the north, full of energy, direction, and promise. But like the river itself, they face dams, diversions, and blockages: systems that slow their flow, dull their momentum, and reroute their course. And the question for this generation is no longer if they have the strength to move forward, it is whether the nation will clear a path for them to do so.

Sindhu is no ordinary river. It once cradled one of the earliest urban civilisations in human history, the Indus Valley Civilisation. A society defined not by kings or wars, but by urban planning, civic infrastructure, and economic organisation. This heritage is not just archaeological. It is aspirational. The roots of rule-based systems, trade networks, and public works stretch back to that river. For Pakistan, honouring that legacy means reviving the spirit of civic responsibility, collective progress, and institutional strength that once defined this land.

Will Sindhu be allowed to run freely, from Hunza to Hyderabad, from Swat to the shores of Karachi? Will the country allow its youth to follow their current, to find their sea, to shape the land they pass through? And will it finally make space for its women not just as passengers on this journey, but as navigators, engineers, and architects of the course ahead?

If Pakistan dares to clear that course; to unlock its talent, listen to its people, and build for the many, not the few, it will find that the river does not just flow to the ocean. It nourishes everything in its path.

The world is watching. But more importantly, its young people are rising and ready to flow forward.

The writer teaches political science at Brevard College, North Carolina. Her recent book, Representation: A Study of Gender Quotas in the National Assembly of Pakistan (Folio Books, 2025), is a longitudinal study of women’s representation in parliament.