The Ramadan figment, while exposing Pakistan’s flaws, also holds a mirror to its potential
- Ramadan in Pakistan is envisioned as a month of unity, piety, and communal harmony. Yet, beneath this idealized facade lies a stark contrast between aspiration and reality
Zaheer Udin Babar Junejo
In the tapestry of cultural and religious traditions, Ramadan in Pakistan is envisioned as a month of unity, piety, and communal harmony. Yet, beneath this idealized facade lies a stark contrast between aspiration and reality, a “figment of imagination” where systemic flaws are cloaked in performative gestures. This dichotomy is particularly evident in the country’s handling of moon-sighting rituals, economic policies, public services, and social welfare. While the spirit of Ramadan calls for empathy and equity, the execution often reveals bureaucratic inertia, economic exploitation, and institutional neglect. Each year, Pakistan’s moon-sighting committees embark on a quest to declare the start of Ramadan, a process steeped in both religious significance and political theater. Theoretically, this exercise should unify the nation under a shared lunar calendar. In practice, however, it devolves into a spectacle of competing claims and regional disagreements. Committees in Peshawar, Karachi, and Lahore often contradict one another, while officials solemnly peer through telescopes—sometimes with comical futility—to “avoid wasting state resources.” The irony is palpable, a ritual meant to symbolize unity instead highlights the fragmentation of authority. Meanwhile, citizens mock the absurdity of modern-day Pakistan relying on medieval methods while ignoring satellite data, a metaphor for the nation’s struggle to reconcile tradition with progress. The government’s annual pledge to slash food prices during Ramadan is another chapter in this figment. Officials theatrically announce crackdowns on hoarders and subsidies for essentials, yet inflation inevitably skyrockets. The atta (flour), sugar, Khajoor (dates), and fruit, meat, sharbat and ghee that should symbolize sustenance become emblems of profiteering. Shopkeepers caught between rising wholesale costs and public scorn, perform their roles in this drama by displaying “discounted” labels while covertly hiking prices. Meanwhile, the wealthy flaunt philanthropic gestures, distributing iftar boxes adorned with their logos. These acts, though commendable, often serve as PR campaigns, masking the systemic inequities that force millions to rely on charity for basic meals. The true spirit of zakat is drowned in a sea of performative generosity.
Read: Ramadan in Pakistan is marked by rising inflation
The state knows its power and never promises uninterrupted electricity, gas, and water during Ramadan. Load-shedding schedules are suspended—on paper—yet urban and rural areas alike plunge into darkness as grids falter. Housewives racing to cook sehri battle nonfunctional stoves, while students in Madarsa recite Quranic verses by candlelight. The government blames “technical faults” or phantom line losses (which they having power never covered up), but the public knows better, chronic underinvestment and mismanagement fuel this annual cycle of hope and disappointment. Even water shortages, exacerbated by climate change, are dismissed with hollow assurances. The Ramadan ideal of comfort becomes a luxury few can afford.
Security measures during and for late-night prayers epitomize the state’s selective vigilance. Police barricades materialize outside mosques, and officers stand guard ostensibly to protect worshippers from street crimes. Yet, the same streets turn perilous once prayers end, with snatchings and assaults surging in unlit alleys. The police, underpaid and overstretched, often moonlight as private guards for the elite, leaving ordinary citizens vulnerable. Meanwhile, the powerful enjoy VIP escorts; their protection is paid by our own hard-earned taxpayer money. The irony is profound: Ramadan’s call for humility is overshadowed by a hierarchy of safety, where the privileged are insulated from the chaos they perpetuate.
Ramadan is touted as a time when interfaith harmony flourishes, with opening charity for every human being. Yet, minorities often navigate a precarious existence. Christian sanitation workers, for instance, toil through fasting hours to clean streets for Eid preparations, their labor invisible and unacknowledged. Hindu communities in Sindh face Ramadan-specific challenges, such as restricted access to restaurants, hotels, and water in drought-stricken areas. Even interfaith iftar dinners, while well-intentioned, rarely translate into structural reforms for religious equality. The vision of unity remains confined to photo ops, as systemic discrimination persists beneath the surface. The roads, chaotic year-round, see a spike in accidents as fasting drivers battle fatigue and impatience. The state’s rhetoric of inclusivity clashes with the reality of a society still grappling with deep-seated patriarchy and sectarianism.
Pakistan’s climate-vulnerable—flood victims in Sindh, glacier melt-affected communities in KPK are paraded as recipients of Ramadan charity. NGOs and politicians distribute food packs, but these efforts seldom address root causes. Farmers displaced by erratic weather patterns receive meager rations, while long-term solutions like climate-resilient infrastructure remain underfunded. The aid, though lifesaving, becomes a temporary salve, absolving the state of its responsibility to enact systemic change. The Quranic imperative to “feed the needy” is reduced to a seasonal obligation, disconnected from justice.
The Ramadan figment, while exposing Pakistan’s flaws, also holds a mirror to its potential. The collective yearning for equity, security, and harmony reflects a society aware of its ideals, even if it struggles to realize them. Bridging this gap requires more than annual theatrics; it demands accountability in governance, equitable economic policies, and a reclamation of Ramadan’s true ethos of empathy as a catalyst for justice. Until then, the figment will persist, a bittersweet reminder of what could be, and what is.
Read: Disenfranchised Social Fabric
__________________
Zaheer Udin Babar Junejo is a Community Development Specialist based in Hyderabad, Sindh, Pakistan
