There comes a moment in every nation’s life when it must pause, look into the mirror and confront an uncomfortable, unsettling truth. For Pakistan, that moment is long overdue. We have spent decades blaming governments, politicians, generals, bureaucrats, global conspiracies and economic cycles. Yet we have rarely asked the most fundamental question of all: Why does Pakistan not come first to the majority of Pakistanis?
The patriotic answer is soothing. The honest answer is painful. And it is only the painful answer that can set us free. Pakistanis love Pakistan. They feel its pain, they cry at its humiliation, they pray for its success. But when it comes to choices, decisions, responsibilities, or trade-offs, Pakistan rarely comes first. Survival comes first. Tribe comes first. Family comes first. Personal gain comes first. Status, connections, and convenience come first. The nation, tragically, comes somewhere far down the list.
To understand why, we must accept two parallel truths, both harsh and both undeniable. The first truth is this: the Pakistani state has not delivered. For 77 years, we have lived under a dysfunctional system that never earned the unconditional trust of its people. Pakistanis do not behave as they do because they are inherently flawed. They behave as they do because the state-citizen contract was broken before most of us were even born. When rules are selective, when the powerful enjoy immunity, when the powerless face humiliation, when institutions exist only for those who cannot bypass them, people react rationally: they protect themselves first.
This is how a survivalist national psyche is born. Not out of selfishness, but out of necessity. When a nation sees that shortcuts deliver results faster than honesty, that influence outranks competence, that connections outweigh merit, and that integrity invites punishment, it naturally stops believing in collective good. It clings instead to personal security. It becomes a society where tax evasion is normal, where queue-jumping is expected, where bribery lubricates everything from hospitals to courts, and where institutions are bypassed by ‘knowing someone who knows someone’.
But this explanation, while true, is incomplete. There is a second truth, even more painful: something is fundamentally broken in our elite culture and national character. It is too easy to say that everything is the system’s fault. Systems do not fall from the sky. Systems are shaped and reshaped by those who control them. And in Pakistan, our most privileged, educated, well-travelled classes – those who know better – have often behaved the worst.
This is the tragedy of Pakistan: the people with the greatest exposure to functioning societies abroad refuse to bring home the lessons they so admire overseas. The same elite that stands in line in London drives on the wrong side of the road in Lahore. The same public officials who would never ask for a favour in Dubai feel entitled to one in Islamabad. The same businessman who meticulously pays taxes in Toronto hides half his income here without shame. The same professional who praises the discipline of Singapore refuses to follow the most basic civic rules in Karachi.
These are deliberate choices, made by people who understand the difference between right and wrong, yet knowingly choose convenience over country because they are confident the system will bend to their will. They keep their money abroad, keep their families abroad, keep their safety nets abroad – and yet claim ownership of Pakistan’s destiny. They lecture the nation on patriotism without practising a single element of civic responsibility themselves.
Nations progress when their elites lead by example, as seen in countries like Japan, Malaysia, Turkey, Indonesia, South Korea, Vietnam, Singapore, China, Germany and the UAE, where discipline, accountability, tax compliance and performance-based privilege were modelled from the top. Pakistan’s problem is not its people but its leadership: too many among the elite extracted more than they contributed, evaded taxes, distorted institutions, protected unproductive privilege and moved capital abroad. When elites bypass the law and avoid responsibility, institutions lose credibility and society follows suit.
And yet, something remarkable happens each time Pakistan faces a true crisis. Whether it is an earthquake, a flood, a war scare, or a national tragedy, the same people rise with extraordinary generosity and unity. They give more than they have. They risk their lives for strangers. They demonstrate a solidarity that astonishes the world. This proves one thing: the problem is not the people. The problem is the incentives, the leadership, the culture and the system that shapes behaviour.
So why does Pakistan not come first to the majority? Because for too long, Pakistan has not come first to those who run it, shape it, and benefit most from it. A nation’s character is shaped from the top. Its priorities are defined by the elite. Its values are taught by example, not by speeches. And those examples, for far too long, have pointed in the wrong direction. It is true that the elite is primarily responsible for this, but it is no longer confined to the elite alone. Over time, it has seeped into society at large and become part of our collective behaviour, almost embedded in our national DNA.
This approach has imposed a steep cost on Pakistan at home and abroad. Domestically, it has weakened institutions, normalised rule-breaking, eroded trust, and locked the economy into low growth and recurring crises. Internationally, it has damaged credibility, raised borrowing costs, discouraged investment and branded Pakistan as a high-risk, unreliable partner. The cumulative price has been lost growth, lost trust, and lost opportunity, both within the country and on the global stage.
Pakistan will start coming first only when Pakistan comes first to those with power, influence, privilege and visibility. Only when those who know better finally start behaving better. Only when the elite abandon the culture of entitlement and embrace the culture of responsibility. Only when integrity becomes a source of pride, not naivete. Only when leadership models discipline instead of demanding it from the people.
The mirror is in front of us now. The reflection is not flattering. The question is painfully simple: Will we keep looking away or will we finally decide that Pakistan must come first?
The writer is a former global corporate executive (Unilever, PepsiCo, Yum! Brands), a mental health advocate and a founding board member of Taskeen, a pioneering organisation focused on emotional well-being in Pakistan.
