IF there is one thing that annoys me more than cricket, it is any discussion of civil service reform. Pardon me if you find this piece more bothersome than usual. The only winners of this charade are a few nonagenarians who keep regurgitating their template-based reports for successive regimes.
Imagine being responsible for healthcare in a large, sparsely populated province like Balochistan. The challenge would be worsened by the health staff’s reluctance to be posted away from the provincial and district headquarters. One might consider using incentives and disincentives to get better results. However, since it is Balochistan — an area suffering from proxy governance and dubious geostrategic assumptions — the provincial health minister holds a press conference to boast about the smart move of promoting over 1,200 doctors by exempting them from the Annual Confidential Report (ACR).
It is OK, take your time; a few deep breaths may help you process this mind-boggling approach to what he claimed was a ploy by the doctors to avoid being posted to ‘peripheral’ areas. As long as they remained in BPS-17, he said, they could avoid being transferred out and were therefore happy to forgo promotion to grade 18. Before we explore alternative approaches that would be less detrimental to the citizens, let us address the archaic instrument known as the ACR. Who all is it supposed to be confidential for? Certainly not the officials’ managers, or ‘superiors’ as our colonial-minded bureaucracy loves to call them. Hopefully not from the officer in question. There is only one certainty in this entire chain: it is definitely a top secret where the unserved citizens are concerned.
In a world of human resource development — where 360-degree feedback is standard, ensuring managers are evaluated by their subordinates, peer reviews are essential and client satisfaction serves as a litmus test during performance reviews — we still cling to this relic known as ACR. Watch any PTV drama or film from earlier times; whenever a boss decides to become downright evil from his usual villainous self, he would threaten a nervous staff member, ‘mein tumhari ACR kharab kar doonga’ (I’ll give you a bad ACR).
We still cling to this relic known as ACR.
As we have established, those were the good old days when the ACR, despite its flaws, used to instil fear of the sahib, if not of the Lord, in delinquent bureaucrats. The minister mentioned earlier gleefully told the media that his ministry had beaten the plotters’ scheme by using a ‘shortcut’, which meant removing the ACR requirement and promoting them regardless, then sending them out to the peripheral areas.
It is not entirely clear whether the reluctant brigade was exempted from submitting their ACRs to the promotion board or if they were completely excused from annual performance reviews. There is a strong possibility it is the latter; otherwise, what could prevent the promotion board from obtaining the ACRs from the ‘personnel’ department, unless, of course, the ‘confidential’ part is the only aspect taken seriously?
The entire logic of linking performance, service delivery and end-user satisfaction to promotion has been turned on its head. What if among the ‘short-cut’ promotees, there are incorrigible absentees? What if there are malpractice complaints and cases of criminal negligence against them? Are we suggesting that ‘peripheries’ are peripheral to the governance debate? In one such peripheral Basic Health Unit, a social mobiliser once came across a glass syringe with the needle whittled to a length of no more than an inch, having been constantly ground on a stone to keep it sharp.
Blame the usual suspects, like the colonisers, sardars, politicians, bureaucrats, clergy and the establishment, for this failure all you want, but consider the responsibility we all carry as citizens in the matter. Our indifference shows not just cultural alienation but also reeks of bias. Most of us can’t even pronounce the names of the tribal stakeholders. Our current behaviour reflects our past collusion. We have chosen to remain indifferent to the pressure under which Balochistan joined what was supposed to be a confederation.
The principle of one citizen, one vote assumes a level playing field. Vast electoral constituencies in Balochistan make it extremely difficult for candidates to reach out to their constituents. This, too, could be taken in stride if all candidates were allowed to campaign freely. The Senate, we are told, is a great equaliser where all units of the federation get equal representation. There too, non-entities from Balochistan are parachuted in, ostensibly to address the province’s sense of deprivation. These are not shortcuts but detours to avoid the bridges we have burned.
The writer is a poet. His latest publication is a collection of satire essays titled Rindana.
Published in Dawn, October 12th, 2025