The Knife of Inflation and the Neck of the Middle Class

​The crescent of Dhul-Hijjah traditionally brings a sense of spiritual anticipation to every corner of Pakistan. From the bustling streets of Nowshera to the local livestock markets in Shaidu, the arrival of sacrificial animals is more than a trade; it is a profound manifestation of the Sunnah-e-Ibrahimi. Eid-ul-Adha is a beautiful lesson in sacrifice, love, brotherhood, and humanity. There was a time when the arrival of Eid brought unadulterated joy to every household. Children would eagerly demand new clothes, the streets echoed with the sounds of sacrificial animals, and every face beamed with a unique radiance.
​Today, however, the atmosphere in our cattle markets is defined less by religious fervor and more by a haunting economic silence. As Eid approaches, the common man in Pakistan feels fear, helplessness, and anxiety rather than happiness. The religious obligation of Qurbani, intended to symbolize the surrender of one’s most prized possessions for the sake of the Divine, is increasingly becoming an unattainable dream.
​The prices of sacrificial animals have soared far beyond the reach of the average citizen. A single goat, ram, or cow now costs hundreds of thousands of rupees, whereas a laborer’s monthly income is no longer even enough to cover basic household expenses. Pakistan’s laborers, cart-pullers, rickshaw drivers, small shopkeepers, and the middle class are under intense economic pressure. They are suffocated not just by the cost of an animal, but by school fees, medicines, rent, and skyrocketing electricity bills that have broken them from within. Consequently, millions of families find themselves helpless, despite their deep desire to fulfill the Sunnah.
​This financial crisis has transformed the morning of Eid into a stranger. Instead of joy, an unknown sadness lingers in homes, preventing anyone from smiling fully. A father, who once considered buying a sacrificial animal a matter of honor and joy for his children, now returns from the market in heavy silence. His pockets are empty, his head is bowed, and his heart is wounded by the unspoken questions of his children. He wonders what he will tell them when they ask, “Father, why aren’t we performing the sacrifice this year?”
​This stark disparity is not just economic; it represents the erosion of human empathy. It is a strange Eid where the tables of a wealthy few are overflowing, while millions of people long for basic necessities. The common man is no longer just a victim of inflation, but a prisoner of deprivation. He watches the elite celebrate Eid in sprawling farmhouses, flaunting expensive animals on social media, while he is forced to hide his face from his own children. Under this oppressive system, the poor are no longer just sacrificing an animal—their dignity, dreams, joy, and peace have already been laid on the altar.
​Eid-ul-Adha reminds us of the great sacrifice of Prophet Ibrahim (A.S.), but today in Pakistan, the greatest sacrifice is being made by the common man. He is sacrificing his dreams, his desires, and his self-respect. If tears are shed on a day of joy, if deprivation darkens the eyes of children, and if mothers are left silent with their grief, we are witnessing a national tragedy and a picture of national decline. This is the moment when loud claims of civilization and promises of prosperity fall silent, leaving only a haunting question at the doorstep of the masses.
​If the common man continues to be excluded from this Sunnah due to financial incapacity, we must ask ourselves: are we sacrificing animals, or are we sacrificing the very social fabric that holds our community together? There is an urgent need for the government, state institutions, and the wealthy to look beyond the mere ritual of sacrifice and truly feel the pain of the common man. Sacrifice is not just about slaughtering an animal; bringing a smile to the face of a helpless human being is also a profound form of worship. If we fail to understand this, Eids will remain nothing more than dates on a calendar, rather than festivals of collective joy. The moon of Eid should bring light to all, not a bitter reminder of what the poor can no longer afford to believe in.