In this land, documents create hope, but power enforces reality. That is the enduring lesson of the Lahore Resolution, and the bitter truth of Pakistan’s political life.
By Advocate Noor Muhammad Marri | Islamabad
Neither the 1940 Resolution was passed by any Constituent Assembly, nor was the forum authorized by the Muslim population. It was passed by the All-India Muslim League, a political party which had been formed under British influence. Yet, in the larger picture, it was the British government that gained the most from it, using it to widen the Hindu–Muslim divide and weaken the nationalist movement in the subcontinent. It is a historical irony that a resolution widely celebrated as the foundation of Pakistan was not a constitutional document, nor a law, nor a guarantee of governance. Instead, it was a political declaration, a hope projected onto paper, designed to unite a diverse and fragmented community under a single banner, without any real structure to implement that hope.
The resolution declared that Muslim-majority areas should be grouped into independent states, but it did not define what those states would be, what powers they would exercise, or how the future governance would function. There was no discussion of federal and provincial powers, no framework for democracy, no mention of Sharia or secular legal systems, no guidance on judiciary or the role of Qazis, no direction for minorities, no articulation of foreign policy, and no consideration of the diversity within Islam itself — Sunni, Shia, Barelvi, Deobandi, or others. In short, it was not a constitutional document. It did not create a legal or political system. It created only a political aspiration, and aspirations alone, without a blueprint for execution, are subject to interpretation and, inevitably, exploitation.
The British understood this ambiguity better than anyone. In 1940, the subcontinent was already simmering with unrest. Nationalist sentiment was strong, Congress governments had assumed office in many provinces after the 1937 elections, and Muslims felt politically marginalized in these Hindu-dominated governments. The British could have feared a united nationalist movement that would challenge their imperial rule. But instead, the emergence of the Muslim League as a separate political pole gave them a way to divide, manage, and control. By encouraging the perception of an irreconcilable Hindu–Muslim divide, they created a mechanism to extend their influence, even as their empire in India was slowly weakening. The Resolution, with its ambiguity, served British interests perfectly: it allowed them to negotiate separately with two competing forces — Congress and the Muslim League — and maintain the subcontinent under indirect influence while keeping direct rule as long as they needed.
It is important to recognize that the 1940 Resolution was a political tool rather than a legal instrument. By leaving almost every critical question open, it allowed future flexibility: princely states could choose whether to join Pakistan, minority Muslims in Hindu-majority provinces were left uncertain, and Muslim identity itself was mobilized as a political resource rather than a legal category. This ambiguity, while helpful for the League in rallying support, also made the resolution dependent on power — those who could enforce decisions determined the outcomes. In other words, the resolution created hope without guarantees, and hope without enforcement is a fragile and easily manipulated commodity.
The Lahore Resolution was celebrated as a visionary statement of Muslim self-determination. But in practical terms, it gave no power to the people. It gave a platform to a political party, which at the time represented mostly urban elites, landed aristocracy, and influential tribal chiefs, but it did not reflect a direct mandate from the Muslim population through a referendum or any kind of democratic process. The League claimed to speak for Muslims, but it had no constitutional authority. Britain, however, could watch the unfolding movement and understand its utility. By 1945–46, when they decided to leave India after World War II, they had a political structure ready for manipulation. The British could step away, leaving a divided subcontinent, confident that their strategic and economic interests would remain partially protected, particularly if Pakistan became a dependent, pliable ally.
This raises a critical question: did the British engineer the Lahore Resolution? Directly, no — it was drafted internally by leaders of the Muslim League, including A.K. Fazlul Haq and Sir Zafarullah Khan. But indirectly, the resolution fit perfectly into British imperial strategy. The League had grown out of British-sponsored platforms, and its demands for separate states amplified the divide-and-rule policy, intentionally or not. In this sense, the British agenda of managing India through political ambiguity and division found a convenient vehicle in the Lahore Resolution.
The resolution, in its vagueness, also created an illusion of planning. Muslims across the subcontinent began to see a future homeland, but that homeland existed only on paper. There were no borders defined, no governance structures, no clear plan for minorities, no economic strategy. It left the future entirely to power politics. Who would enforce borders? Who would establish institutions? Who would define law and order? These were questions the resolution did not answer, and that lack of answers created an open space for manipulation — first by the British, and later by Pakistan’s own establishment.
If we fast forward to post-independence Pakistan, we see a continuation of this pattern. Every few decades, a new constitution, amendment, doctrine, or commission appeared, each promising reform, stability, or justice. People were told that the 1956 Constitution would bring democracy. Then the 1962 Constitution was introduced as a modern scientific framework. Then came the 1973 Constitution, widely praised by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto as a landmark document that would “bury martial law forever.” Yet history proved otherwise. Bhutto himself was buried under the very constitution he had celebrated. Later, Zia-ul-Haq, Musharraf, and subsequent regimes continued this tradition: issuing acts, commissions, amendments, and doctrines, all of which promised stability but served primarily to maintain existing power structures.
This is the fundamental lesson from the Lahore Resolution: in the subcontinent, documents do not govern people — power governs documents. Constitutions, resolutions, acts, and amendments are tools. Their real value lies not in the text itself but in who enforces them and who benefits from them. The 1940 Resolution created hope, but that hope became a tool for power brokers, first in British India and then in Pakistan.
Another important limitation of the Lahore Resolution was its silence on princely states. The resolution spoke only of Muslim-majority areas under direct British rule. Princely states — Hyderabad, Kashmir, Bhopal, Junagadh, Kalat, Bahawalpur, Swat, Dir, Chitral, Khairpur — were entirely excluded. Legally, these states were autonomous, and their rulers retained discretion over accession. The resolution created no roadmap for including them. It left every question open, creating future conflict and dependence on negotiation and power. The ambiguity in 1940 thus became a source of post-independence tension.
Similarly, Muslim-majority districts in otherwise Hindu-dominated provinces were not clearly included in the proposed “states.” The resolution recognized only the Northwest and Eastern zones as core areas for Muslim sovereignty. This created anxiety among Muslims in other regions, who were promised hope but not clarity. Once again, the Resolution offered hope without power.
The British left India in 1947 not because the people had been “granted” independence through the Lahore Resolution, but because power calculations forced them to leave. They preferred two successor states rather than a united India. This served their strategic interests: India would not become a single, powerful state capable of challenging British influence in the region; Pakistan would serve as a buffer, strategically aligned with British interests in the Indian Ocean and the Muslim world; and the British could negotiate separately with two weaker states, maintaining influence indirectly even after formal withdrawal. The Lahore Resolution, intentionally or not, facilitated this outcome. Its ambiguity created a structure of dependence on power, which the British exploited. Later, Pakistan’s own establishment inherited this legacy. Acts, commissions, and amendments became means of controlling the nation, giving the people hope on paper while the real authority remained concentrated.
The Lahore Resolution of 1940 was never a constitution, never a legal document, and never a complete blueprint for governance. It was a political statement, a call for Muslim identity, and a promise of sovereignty, but nothing more. Its ambiguity allowed the British to benefit, first by managing India through division, later by leaving two weaker states that could be influenced indirectly. Pakistan, in turn, inherited this culture: every constitution, every amendment, every political act has promised justice, stability, or democracy, but real change has always depended on the concentration and exercise of power.
Neither the 1940 Resolution, nor the 1956, nor the 1962, nor the 1973 Constitutions, nor any political doctrine can govern a nation if the rulers refuse to allow it. In this land, documents create hope, but power enforces reality. That is the enduring lesson of the Lahore Resolution, and the bitter truth of Pakistan’s political life.
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Noor Muhammad Marri is a Lawyer and Mediator, based in Islamabad
