By Sudhir Ahmad Afridi
When Maulana Fazlur Rehman, one of Pakistan’s most seasoned political figures, declared that the “field” now holds more significance than the “house,” it was more than just an offhand remark. It was a damning reflection of a growing national malaise — a crisis of faith in Pakistan’s democratic institutions. His words cut deep into the heart of a political system many now see as hollowed out, detached from the people it claims to represent.
For decades, Fazlur Rehman has been part of the country’s power landscape — a cleric-politician known as much for his pragmatism as for his persistence. His pronouncement, therefore, carries weight. When a man of his political experience expresses open disdain for the National Assembly, describing it as effectively irrelevant, it becomes impossible to dismiss as mere rhetoric. The parliament, once hailed as the soul of democratic governance, now stands accused of being a stage set — a showpiece for appearances, not action.
The disillusionment he articulates is not his alone. Across the spectrum, from opposition benches to independent observers, there is a prevailing sense that the legislature has lost its meaning. The phrase “rubber-stamp parliament” has returned to political discourse with bitter familiarity. Many recall how the late Qazi Hussain Ahmad, a man of moral conviction, once branded parliament a “heap of filth” before resigning in protest. The echoes of that moral outrage ring louder today, amplified by a public that feels more excluded than ever from the decisions shaping its fate.
At the core of this anger lies a fundamental breakdown of democratic process. Major policy decisions — from economic restructuring to security cooperation — are often perceived as being dictated by the executive or external power brokers, then presented to parliament as foregone conclusions. The ritual of debate continues, but without consequence. Legislation is passed with little scrutiny; resolutions are adopted with less conviction. The process resembles theatre — elaborate, repetitive, but void of purpose.
If elected representatives cannot freely legislate, oversee, or dissent, what remains of their mandate? This is the essence of Fazlur Rehman’s provocation. His question, stripped to its truth, is whether it is worth remaining confined within a “house” that has ceased to matter. Would it not be more honest — and perhaps more effective — to return to the “field,” to engage directly with a public that no longer believes in parliamentary reform?
The question resonates sharply in a country where despair is widespread. Pakistan today faces a convergence of economic, political, and social turmoil. Inflation has eroded the dignity of daily life, forcing middle-class families into survival mode. Unemployment has driven thousands of young graduates abroad. Provinces such as Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan are mired in insecurity, their people trapped between poverty and violence. The state, burdened by debt and directionless in diplomacy, lurches between competing global allegiances — Russia, China, the United States — without a coherent long-term strategy.
This state of drift has created an emotional vacuum, and Fazlur Rehman’s statement taps directly into it. When he calls for fresh elections as the only way to restore legitimacy, he reflects a sentiment shared across political lines: that the current order cannot be repaired from within. For him, the cost of another election — in money, time, and political instability — would still be less than the cost of continuing under a parliament that inspires neither confidence nor participation.
He points to international precedents to justify his argument. Japan, he notes, endured years of rapid government turnover before achieving a form of political maturity. Frequent elections, rather than destabilizing the system, forced accountability and produced more responsive leadership. By contrast, Pakistan’s entrenched paralysis, where power remains concentrated and unaccountable, threatens to breed something far worse than instability — it risks irrelevance.
(The writer is a senior journalist covering various beats, can be reached at news@metro-morning.com)
