In Pakistan, the phrase ‘the 22 families’ has been a prominent part of public discourse for decades. It resurfaces time and again, echoing a sentiment held by many that an alarming amount of wealth and power is concentrated in the hands of a small few.
However, the point isn’t necessarily about the identities of these families. Rather, the real concern lies in the repeated nature of this phenomenon and why it remains so resistant to change.
The term was first coined in the late 1960s by Dr Mehboob-ul-Haq, who was then the chief economist at the Planning Commission. His intention wasn’t to point fingers at specific families but to highlight a more profound issue: an economic system where access to the state, its policies, resources, and protections was reserved for a select elite. Over time, the phrase became associated with prominent business groups.
These families established large enterprises spanning sectors such as textiles, banking, real estate, and energy. However, their success was not solely due to business acumen. Political connections played a significant role. Benevolent regulations, market protection, preferential credit, and access to state contracts enabled a handful of groups to dominate entire industries. For smaller businesses and the average citizen, the economic playing field was anything but level.
The 1970s saw a brief interruption in this pattern, when Zulfikar Ali Bhutto nationalised major industries and banks. For a time, it seemed that the grip of the elite had loosened. However, this shift proved temporary. The 1980s ushered in privatisation and deregulation, bringing many of the same families or their successors back into positions of power. As new sectors such as telecommunications and real estate emerged, a new wave of elites joined their ranks, but the underlying system remained unchanged.
The consequences of this concentration of wealth are evident today. While the wealth at the top has increased, opportunities for the majority have dwindled. Economic growth has failed to improve the lives of most Pakistanis. Talented individuals leave the country in search of better prospects. Law and order are undermined as laws are selectively enforced. Parents withdraw their children from schools because education no longer guarantees stability or dignity. These are not isolated incidents but the predictable outcomes of a system that rewards access rather than merit.
This raises a troubling question. Can this system ever be reformed? Many believe that it cannot.
However, history suggests that such systems can change, but with an important caveat. Systems like these do not transform on their own. Change occurs only when the cost of maintaining the status quo exceeds the cost of reform. Inequality does not correct itself naturally. Talent does not wait indefinitely. It moves elsewhere.
Other nations have faced similar challenges and managed to overcome them. South Korea, Taiwan and Malaysia once had economies dominated by small elites and minimal competition. Their success wasn’t a result of revolutions or the destruction of wealth, but of strong institutions. Elites were held accountable to rules they couldn’t manipulate. Monopolies were controlled. State support was tied to performance rather than political connections. Education expanded to ensure that opportunities were available to more than a privileged few.
South Korea’s experience is particularly instructive. It was once poorer than Pakistan, controlled by a handful of business families. The government compelled these families to compete internationally. Those who failed were allowed to fail. Corruption was exposed and punished. The result was not an exodus of capital but a robust economy and a growing middle class.
The lesson is straightforward: nations progress when privilege is replaced by competition and when laws are applied equally to all citizens.
Pakistan has yet to make this shift. Many in the elite are insulated from the rest of society, financially global, politically connected and socially detached while the state and ordinary citizens bear the burden of a dysfunctional system. The middle class is under pressure, informality is on the rise, and trust in institutions continues to erode.
This is why the debate over the ‘22 families’ should not focus on names or blame. Every country has wealthy families. What matters is whether wealth is linked to productivity and responsibility, or to influence and protection.
At this point, reform is not simply about fairness. It is a matter of survival. No country can remain stable when its brightest citizens leave, its children lose hope in education, and its laws instill fear rather than confidence.
Change will eventually come, not necessarily because the system is unjust, but because it is unsustainable. Pakistan now faces a choice: to reform while its institutions are still functioning or to wait until the system breaks down, leaving no other option but collapse.
The writer is a passionate commentator on Pakistan’s socio-political and economic landscape.
