What DC Islamabad learned from rural Sindh

The CSS Path and Sindh

Muzamil opens by asking about Shafqaat’s background. The conversation lands on the Pakistan Administrative Service exam, which Shafqaat cleared in 2005 after engineering at GIK Institute. “I had a few months of exam preparation,” he says, but the real story unfolds in the field. His first posting was Ratho Dero Tehseel in rural Sindh, a small town he describes as remote and lawless. “When I went to Ratho Dero, I had never been to Interior Sindh. The law and order situation was very out of control.” The drive to a basic appointment took two days.

What struck him was the landscape itself. A region so arid that even a short trip felt like crossing the border into another country. Shafqaat saw that Sindh’s rural economy had collapsed into two extremes: landless laborers clinging to survival, and wealthy landowners with holdings scattered across provincial cities. No one in between. “Middle class doesn’t exist. Elite class either go to Dubai or Karachi. They hunt in the villages, take their proceeds, and the poor are left doing survival on their own.”

The Structural Problem of Sandhi’s Economy

Shafqaat’s analysis of rural Sindh economics is direct. Agriculture is the only engine, and it has been choked by water. The Sukhar Barrage was built in the 1930s, and canals drew twelve districts into viability. But the system has stalled. Without land reform or public investment, the outcome is predictable: some people have vast holdings with no reason to stay, and everyone else has nothing. “If there is a house in the city there will be electricity, roads, water. In the village there is nothing. And despite abject poverty, they will still offer you everything that they have.”

Shafqaat’s proposal during his posting was straightforward: allot land to landless laborers for 20 years, enough for subsistence and dignity. It was a plea for intervention, not innovation. But the mechanics of Pakistani governance swallowed it. After three years in Sindh, he was promoted to Additional Deputy Commissioner in Islamabad.

Islamabad’s Growth and the Resource Squeeze

Islamabad in 2005, when Shafqaat passed his exams, was a city of seven million (by his account). Today it is 22 million. Growth of 300 percent. Yet the district administration that has to manage it operates on a skeleton staff. “In 2005, I had those six assistant commissioners. Today I have many assistant commissioners. Today in Islamabad there was only one characteristic. Today in Islamabad, before there were 13 police thanas. Now there were 20 thanas, women became 15 thanas. But with the same police force.”

Muzamil presses on the perception that crime has spiked. Shafqaat counters with data: crime is down 33 percent. But a mugging in F-10 spreads viral in minutes, and international embassies tweet alerts, and the perception becomes the reality. “An important person tweeted that you think that it’s really big guy. It’s very anecdotal. We gave our presentation to the Ministry of Interior. The PM had noticed. National Assembly Standing Committee on Interior appreciated that Islamabad Police had performed.”

He is clear on why perception and reality diverge. “Islamabad has no low profile. If a victim looks at something, immediately it will be viral. On the other hand, if you go to Rawalpindi, you have to look at us three times more than a mugging. But because we are read more and present in the media, so we look at more things.”

The Weight of Overlapping Bureaucracy

Islamabad’s city administration is theoretically impossible. The CDA (Capital Development Authority) handles planning and zoning. The Metropolitan Corporation handles sanitation, water, and municipal services. The district administration handles law and order and land disputes. They collide on every major decision. Sanitation is the MCI’s responsibility, but when trash piles up, people blame the DC. Street lights are someone else’s, water supply someone else’s. “When the situation becomes law and order, it becomes my responsibility.”

Shafqaat’s task is managing overlaps while maintaining a public face. He has pushed back on violations and encroachments; recovered 15,000 illegally-constructed properties. Drug interdiction. Training committees in schools. Twitter updates to reach people directly. The work is unheralded. “It’s a thankless work. People say good sometimes. We worked in the corona. We’ve got to control COVID-19. Alhamdulillah, our support is our support. We’ve got to control it. So rewarding is very much on our own. Although the public doesn’t do it.”

The Civic Service In Crisis

Shafqaat is unflinching about systemic rot. The checks on civil servants are so numerous and fearsome that innovation has calcified. NAB (National Accountability Bureau), audit agencies, assemblies, courts, media: all can end a career on suspicion. “Two or three percent exceptional civil servants can deliver. They are doing this because they don’t have any other problem at home. They will get money from home. And they can deliver and focus on it. But otherwise, the normal civil servant will be impossible to deliver within the current system.”

The stakes are real. A social media post that looks bad can bring suspension within 12 hours. A controversial decision can invite inquiry that ruins tenure, with no chance of recovery. Most officers play it safe, which means most decisions don’t get made.

Social Media As a Fidelity Test

Paradoxically, Shafqaat uses social media to protect himself. He was one of the first CSS officers to join Twitter, posting updates on flights, COVID protocols, and city emergencies. His account is factual, not self-promotional. “My prime purpose was that the factual and accurate news was to reach people.” The government itself has pushed officers to go public, launching apps like Dostum and PM Portal.

But the FIA suspended officials for using social media without a spokesperson. The regulatory cost of transparency is high. Shafqaat navigates it by staying within conduct rules written in the 1960s, keeping his posts aligned with policy, never embarrassing the department. “If this is in the capital, so it automatically gets a perception of the whole world.”

On Pakistan’s Future

At the close, Muzamil asks Shafqaat’s honest read on Pakistan. Shafqaat does not hedge. The population is the biggest challenge. At 10 crore, Pakistan is one of the fastest-growing countries and cannot feed itself on current resources. But crisis also shows signs of system maturation. The judiciary is independent. The media is independent. The middle class is vocal and vibrant. And young people like Muzamil have a voice and can get things done.

“In the next ten years, Pakistan will be Asian tiger type emerging economy. Despite everything. In the next five years, Pakistan is going to be the proper five years of Pakistan.” He says it without irony, grounded in observation, not hope.