In federal systems, geography is not merely a matter of maps — it is a matter of access, dignity, and justice.
When a mother from Rohri must travel hundreds of kilometres to Karachi for a bureaucratic file, when a farmer from Kashmore spends two days’ earnings just to reach a provincial office, when a student from Rahim Yar Khan finds that the provincial capital is farther than another province entirely, governance is failing. The real question is not a political rhetoric. It is a constitutional responsibility.
“O you who believe! Stand firmly for justice, as witnesses to Allah, even if it be against yourselves…” (Surah An-Nisa 4:135)
Citizens from Upper Sindh — Rohri, Sukkur, Ghotki, Kashmore — must travel long distances to Karachi. Citizens of Lower Punjab — Rahim Yar Khan, Bahawalpur, Dera Ghazi Khan — must travel to Lahore. Distance in kilometers translates into travel cost, lost time, administrative delays, and psychological alienation. A government far from its people is a government that feels indifferent.
Under Article 239 of the Constitution of Pakistan, new provinces can be created with a two-thirds majority in Parliament and approval of the concerned provincial assembly. This is not rebellion. It is constitutional reform. The question is not legality. It is political will — and citizen welfare. Merging the divisions of Lower Punjab and Upper Sindh, with Sukkur as a geographically central and administratively capable capital, is not symbolic; it is practical governance. Large provinces often concentrate resources in one metropolitan center, leaving peripheral districts neglected. Creating a new province can reduce bureaucratic load, improve law and order response, enable region-specific development planning, and strengthen local representation.
“Each of you is a shepherd, and each of you is responsible for his flock.” — Hadith, Sahih Bukhari & Muslim
History is often written in headlines, but sometimes it is survived in silence. During the turbulent years of Sindhi–Muhajir tension, interior Sindh — particularly Shikarpur — was politically and emotionally combustible. I was not an anonymous citizen. I was Chairman of the Shikarpur Press Club, reporting for Pakistan Press International (PPI), and Bureau Chief of Daily Jasarat in Karachi. Journalism itself was interpreted as political alignment, and language became identity. Being a prominent Urdu-speaking Sindhi in Shikarpur placed me in danger.
Young activists, organized under rising Sindhi nationalist sentiment, viewed Urdu-speaking professionals with suspicion. Threats were whispered before they were spoken aloud. Meetings were held in charged tones. Names began circulating. When movements shift from slogans to intimidation, families become vulnerable. On the advice of my elder brother, Nur-ur-Rehman Safi, my paternal grandfather — himself a migrant — made the painful decision to sell our properties, along with my mother’s house, at a very low price. We ran from Shikarpur to Punjab — to Pakpattan — not for comfort, but for safety and honour.
During that period, the civilian Chief Martial Law Administrator — the only one in Pakistan’s history — publicly mentioned in a national address a “talented cousin” who became the Marshal Law Administrator of Sindh. That era was marked by central authority wielded with personal and political agendas, and ethnic tensions escalated into violence. That reference explains why policies and local enforcement became serious threats for certain communities, including prominent professional families like ours.
We were not alone. With our migrational departure, the family of prominent writer M.A. Moodi migrated to Sargodha, Punjab, and Mr. Shakeel Jameelzafah moved toward Karachi. These movements were not political campaigns. They were protective decisions. Survival demanded distance; migration carried urgency.
“A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.” — William Blake
Karachi is integral to Sindh — historically, constitutionally, culturally, and economically. Separating it is not administrative reform. It is political maneuvering — a potential ethnic fracture.
“And do not let the hatred of a people cause you to act unjustly. Be just; that is nearer to righteousness.” (Surah Al-Ma’idah 5:8)
Sindhi-speaking citizens have the right to see Karachi remain part of their province. Urdu-speaking Sindhis, like myself, recognize this as justice and historical continuity.
Why must administrative distance persist while extraordinary powers once bent constitutions at will? Why is citizen hardship tolerated, while political elites reshape power overnight? Parliament — National Assembly and Senate — must debate, deliberate, and lead reform constitutionally.
“No man is an island, entire of itself…” — John Donne
Other federations provide lessons: the United States, Germany, and India adjust boundaries to improve governance. Gilgit-Baltistan evolved its administrative status peacefully. Federalism adapts. It does not fracture when citizens need ease and equity.
Administrative reform must not target Karachi’s separation, ignite ethnic tension, or reopen historical wounds. It must reduce citizen hardship, strengthen local governance, and uphold constitutional processes.
We did not abandon Sindh. We folded it carefully into our memory. The soil remained under our nails. The language remained on our tongue. Karachi is not merely a port of ships; it is a harbour of histories. It belongs to Sindh — and to Pakistan. Maps are drawn in ink, but nations are drawn in trust. Languages are colours — not weapons.
Pakistan does not need another season of division. It needs deliberation, courage, and constitutional wisdom. Karachi is a jewel of Sindh. Sindh is the heart of Pakistan.
“Be just; that is nearer to righteousness.” (Qur’an 5:8)
Justice is not about maps. It is about mercy. It is about bringing governance closer to people, protecting citizens, and honoring history without igniting new wounds.
“Maps should serve the citizen, not the citizen serve the map.”
“Karachi is integral to Sindh — historically, constitutionally, culturally, economically.”
“Administrative reform must reduce citizen hardship, not ignite historical wounds.”
“Languages are colours — not weapons.”
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