Dr. Muhammad Akram Zaheer

The English philosopher Jeremy Bentham argued that governments should be judged not by slogans or ceremony, but by the extent to which they promote “the greatest happiness of the greatest number.” His famous hedonic calculus was an attempt to measure pleasure and pain through factors such as intensity, duration, certainty, nearness, extent and consequences. Though conceived in the 18th century, the idea still offers a useful lens through which modern governance can be examined. In Punjab today, where Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz Sharif has launched a range of reforms, Bentham’s framework invites a timely question: do these policies increase public welfare while preserving liberty and rights?

Punjab, Pakistan’s most populous province, has long suffered from bureaucratic inertia, weak service delivery and growing public frustration. Successive administrations promised change, yet governance often remained hostage to red tape. Since taking office in 2024, Maryam Nawaz Sharif has sought to project a more interventionist and welfare-oriented model. Her government has introduced housing programmes, youth schemes, transport expansion, digitalisation drives and regulatory authorities. Whether one supports or opposes the politics behind them, these measures deserve assessment on outcomes rather than rhetoric.  From a Benthamite perspective, social welfare schemes carry obvious utility. Programmes such as Apni Chhat Apna Ghar aim to expand affordable housing, while scholarships, laptops and youth internships seek to widen opportunity. If a poor household gains shelter, a student gains access to digital tools, or an unemployed graduate secures training, the pleasure generated is not merely private it radiates into families and communities. Bentham would likely classify such measures as high in intensity, duration and extent, because benefits can be both immediate and long-lasting. Similarly, the province’s investment in transport and citizen facilitation may be read through utilitarian logic. New buses, road rehabilitation, mobile health clinics and digital service centres can reduce everyday suffering: fewer delays, easier mobility, quicker access to healthcare, and less humiliation in dealing with officialdom. Governance often fails not in grand theory but in ordinary inconvenience. Bentham understood this well. Removing avoidable pain from daily life is itself a moral gain.

Yet Bentham’s calculus also asks governments to weigh costs. Every policy has side effects. A subsidy poorly targeted may waste public money. A welfare scheme designed for headlines rather than institutional sustainability may create temporary satisfaction but long-term fiscal strain. Punjab’s ambitious spending priorities have drawn attention because development allocations and sectoral budgets have risen sharply. If such spending builds durable capacity, the utility case is strong. If it expands debt or weakens finances, the pleasure may be short-lived.  The sharper test lies in legal and institutional reform. Maryam Nawaz’s administration has promoted the Punjab Enforcement and Regulatory Authority (PERA), aimed at tackling hoarding, profiteering and encroachments. On paper, this appears Benthamite: inflation and market disorder impose pain on millions, so stronger enforcement may benefit the wider public. But utilitarianism is not a blank cheque for state power. Bentham supported codified law and administrative efficiency, yet arbitrary authority can itself become a source of suffering. If enforcement agencies act transparently, proportionately and under judicial oversight, utility rises. If powers are abused, fear replaces trust.

The same dilemma appears in policing reforms. Public demand for safer streets is genuine, and crime control yields collective benefit. But liberty cannot be collateral damage. Reports surrounding tougher policing structures, including the Crime Control Department, have raised concerns among rights advocates. Here Bentham meets modern constitutionalism: security matters, but unchecked coercion can inflict pain more severe than the disorder it claims to cure. Effective governance must protect citizens from both criminals and excessive state force. This brings us to individual rights. Bentham famously criticised the abstract language of “natural rights,” yet contemporary democracies have refined the debate. Rights today are practical guarantees against arbitrary detention, censorship, discrimination and abuse. In a province as politically vibrant as Punjab, liberty means the citizen’s ability to criticise power, seek justice and live without official intimidation. No utilitarian success in roads or subsidies can fully compensate for the erosion of these freedoms. Happiness without dignity is an incomplete metric.

To Maryam Nawaz’s credit, her administration has also highlighted inclusion from minority welfare initiatives to disability support and women-focused programmes. Such measures align with a more modern utilitarianism that counts the welfare of marginalised citizens equally, not merely the majority. If sustained fairly and free from patronage, these can strengthen social cohesion and widen the moral reach of the state.  Punjab’s real challenge, however, is institutionalisation. Pakistan’s politics too often personalises governance. Schemes are tied to personalities, not systems; announcements outpace execution; reforms depend on one office rather than stable rules. Bentham would have warned against this. Good government is not episodic generosity but predictable administration under law. The public gains most when institutions outlast leaders. In the end, the verdict on Punjab under Maryam Nawaz Sharif cannot rest on partisan enthusiasm or reflexive criticism. Bentham’s hedonic calculus asks harder questions: Are citizens safer? Are services easier to access? Are opportunities wider? Are rights secure? Is pain reduced for the many without injustice to the few?

If the answer increasingly becomes yes, then Punjab may indeed be moving toward the greatest happiness principle. But if efficiency comes at the cost of liberty, or welfare at the expense of accountability, then the calculus turns against power itself. Governance, like philosophy, is judged not by promises but by consequences.

Dr. Muhammad Akram Zaheer

The English philosopher Jeremy Bentham argued that governments should be judged not by slogans or ceremony, but by the extent to which they promote “the greatest happiness of the greatest number.” His famous hedonic calculus was an attempt to measure pleasure and pain through factors such as intensity, duration, certainty, nearness, extent and consequences. Though conceived in the 18th century, the idea still offers a useful lens through which modern governance can be examined. In Punjab today, where Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz Sharif has launched a range of reforms, Bentham’s framework invites a timely question: do these policies increase public welfare while preserving liberty and rights?

Punjab, Pakistan’s most populous province, has long suffered from bureaucratic inertia, weak service delivery and growing public frustration. Successive administrations promised change, yet governance often remained hostage to red tape. Since taking office in 2024, Maryam Nawaz Sharif has sought to project a more interventionist and welfare-oriented model. Her government has introduced housing programmes, youth schemes, transport expansion, digitalisation drives and regulatory authorities. Whether one supports or opposes the politics behind them, these measures deserve assessment on outcomes rather than rhetoric.  From a Benthamite perspective, social welfare schemes carry obvious utility. Programmes such as Apni Chhat Apna Ghar aim to expand affordable housing, while scholarships, laptops and youth internships seek to widen opportunity. If a poor household gains shelter, a student gains access to digital tools, or an unemployed graduate secures training, the pleasure generated is not merely private it radiates into families and communities. Bentham would likely classify such measures as high in intensity, duration and extent, because benefits can be both immediate and long-lasting. Similarly, the province’s investment in transport and citizen facilitation may be read through utilitarian logic. New buses, road rehabilitation, mobile health clinics and digital service centres can reduce everyday suffering: fewer delays, easier mobility, quicker access to healthcare, and less humiliation in dealing with officialdom. Governance often fails not in grand theory but in ordinary inconvenience. Bentham understood this well. Removing avoidable pain from daily life is itself a moral gain.

Yet Bentham’s calculus also asks governments to weigh costs. Every policy has side effects. A subsidy poorly targeted may waste public money. A welfare scheme designed for headlines rather than institutional sustainability may create temporary satisfaction but long-term fiscal strain. Punjab’s ambitious spending priorities have drawn attention because development allocations and sectoral budgets have risen sharply. If such spending builds durable capacity, the utility case is strong. If it expands debt or weakens finances, the pleasure may be short-lived.  The sharper test lies in legal and institutional reform. Maryam Nawaz’s administration has promoted the Punjab Enforcement and Regulatory Authority (PERA), aimed at tackling hoarding, profiteering and encroachments. On paper, this appears Benthamite: inflation and market disorder impose pain on millions, so stronger enforcement may benefit the wider public. But utilitarianism is not a blank cheque for state power. Bentham supported codified law and administrative efficiency, yet arbitrary authority can itself become a source of suffering. If enforcement agencies act transparently, proportionately and under judicial oversight, utility rises. If powers are abused, fear replaces trust.

The same dilemma appears in policing reforms. Public demand for safer streets is genuine, and crime control yields collective benefit. But liberty cannot be collateral damage. Reports surrounding tougher policing structures, including the Crime Control Department, have raised concerns among rights advocates. Here Bentham meets modern constitutionalism: security matters, but unchecked coercion can inflict pain more severe than the disorder it claims to cure. Effective governance must protect citizens from both criminals and excessive state force. This brings us to individual rights. Bentham famously criticised the abstract language of “natural rights,” yet contemporary democracies have refined the debate. Rights today are practical guarantees against arbitrary detention, censorship, discrimination and abuse. In a province as politically vibrant as Punjab, liberty means the citizen’s ability to criticise power, seek justice and live without official intimidation. No utilitarian success in roads or subsidies can fully compensate for the erosion of these freedoms. Happiness without dignity is an incomplete metric.

To Maryam Nawaz’s credit, her administration has also highlighted inclusion from minority welfare initiatives to disability support and women-focused programmes. Such measures align with a more modern utilitarianism that counts the welfare of marginalised citizens equally, not merely the majority. If sustained fairly and free from patronage, these can strengthen social cohesion and widen the moral reach of the state.  Punjab’s real challenge, however, is institutionalisation. Pakistan’s politics too often personalises governance. Schemes are tied to personalities, not systems; announcements outpace execution; reforms depend on one office rather than stable rules. Bentham would have warned against this. Good government is not episodic generosity but predictable administration under law. The public gains most when institutions outlast leaders. In the end, the verdict on Punjab under Maryam Nawaz Sharif cannot rest on partisan enthusiasm or reflexive criticism. Bentham’s hedonic calculus asks harder questions: Are citizens safer? Are services easier to access? Are opportunities wider? Are rights secure? Is pain reduced for the many without injustice to the few?

If the answer increasingly becomes yes, then Punjab may indeed be moving toward the greatest happiness principle. But if efficiency comes at the cost of liberty, or welfare at the expense of accountability, then the calculus turns against power itself. Governance, like philosophy, is judged not by promises but by consequences.

Huma Arshad

In April 2026, within the raucous and high-ceilinged citadel of the 119th Congress, King Charles III performed a feat of transatlantic choreography that few elected politicians could replicate. He arrived at a moment when the “Special Relationship” seemed less a partnership and more a casualty of modern friction. Navigating a landscape scarred by a recent assassination attempt at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, an escalating war in Iran, and a visible rift between President Trump and Prime Minister Keir Starmer punctuated by the President’s stinging “not Winston Churchill” dismissal of the British leader the King stepped onto the rostrum not as a relic of the past, but as the diplomatic all-purpose weapon of the British state.

The reception was nothing short of extraordinary. The King elicited 13 standing ovations from a polarized chamber, a metric of success that underscored his unique ability to transcend partisan vitriol. As the 19th sovereign in his line to “study with daily attention the affairs of America,” Charles utilized his apolitical status to reconcile two centuries of shared history with the urgent, often perilous, demands of the present.

The five most significant takeaways from this masterclass in soft power and constitutional theatre.

1. Reframing the Revolution as a “Shared Value”

The King bypassed the usual platitudes of “common heritage” to offer a more sophisticated historical synthesis. He argued that the American Revolution was not a divorce from British identity, but the ultimate expression of British democratic evolution. In a maneuver that silenced the ghosts of 1776, he framed the cry of “no taxation without representation” as a fundamental value the United States actually inherited from the British Enlightenment.

By characterizing the Founding Fathers as “bold and imaginative rebels with a cause,” Charles transformed a historical rift into a narrative of continuity.

“Indeed the very principle on which your Congress was founded no taxation without representation was at once a fundamental disagreement between us and at the same time a shared democratic value which you inherited from us. Ours is a partnership born out of dispute but no less strong for it.”

This reframing was more than literary flair; it was a strategic tool. By positioning the birth of the Republic as an extension of English common law, the King effectively neutralized 250 years of “friction,” heralding the upcoming semi-quincentennial not as a celebration of British defeat, but as a shared triumph of democratic ideals.

2. “Constitutional Theatre” and the Subversive Critique of Power

The King’s use of dry wit served as a strategic shield for a profound critique of executive overreach. He deployed an anecdote about the British tradition of holding a Member of Parliament “hostage” at Buckingham Palace during royal addresses to ensure the monarch’s safe return. While the chamber erupted in laughter at his offer to take “volunteers” for the role, the subtext was a masterclass in “constitutional theatre.”

Charles was reminding his audience that the British monarchy survived only by surrendering absolute authority to the rule of law and the will of Parliament. This theme was sharpened by his “Tale of Two Georges” quipcontrasting George Washington with his ancestor, George III. Presidential historian Jon Meacham likened the address to “a headmaster speaking to a school,” as the King underscored that institutions endure only when they respect their limits.

Crucially, the King did not shy away from the darker shadows of the alliance. He subtly addressed the scandal involving Jeffrey Epstein and the subsequent stripping of Prince Andrew’s titles by referencing the “collective strength” required to “support victims of some of the ills that, so tragically, exist in both our societies today.” It was a moment of unyielding resolve, acknowledging internal institutional failures to bolster his moral authority on the global stage.

3. The Secret Legal DNA of the Supreme Court

Perhaps the most surprising takeaway for the assembled lawmakers was the King’s detailed invocation of the “Secret Legal DNA” that binds the two nations. Citing research from the Supreme Court Historical Society, the King provided a striking quantitative weight to the alliance’s legal foundations.

• The Magna Carta Metric: The 1215 charter has been cited in at least 160 U.S. Supreme Court cases since 1789, serving as the bedrock for the principle that executive power is subject to checks and balances.
• Verbatim Rights: He noted that the 1689 Declaration of Rights provided the source for principles reiterated, often verbatim, in the American Bill of Rights of 1791.

The presence of Former Associate Justice Stephen Breyer in the front row provided a human face to this intellectual kinship. By reminding Congress that an acre of Runnymede where the Magna Carta was sealed is forever American soil in memory of John F. Kennedy, Charles reinforced that the American legal system is not merely similar to Britain’s; it is an organic outgrowth of the same ancient protections against tyranny.

4. Geologic Kinship and the “National Security” of Nature

In a characteristic nod to his life-long environmental passions, the King employed a poetic geological metaphor to bridge the transatlantic divide. He observed that the mountains of Scotland and the Appalachians were once a single, unbroken rangea physical “geologic kinship” that symbolizes an “inseparable fate.”

However, this was no mere pastoral aside. Charles strategically elevated environmental stewardship from a matter of partisan policy to one of “national security.” At a time when Washington remains deeply divided over climate regulations, the King framed the protection of nature as a foundational requirement for global stability.

“I hope we might also reflect on our shared responsibility to safeguard nature, our most precious and irreplaceable asset.”

In this moment, the private man and the public monarch aligned perfectly, presenting the preservation of the natural world as a duty that transcends the temporary cycles of electoral politics.

5. An Alliance for a “Perilous Era” (Beyond Sentiment)

The King concluded by pivoting from history to hardwired modern strategy. Acknowledging that the world is “more volatile and more dangerous” than during Queen Elizabeth II’s 1991 visit, he issued a firm rejection of “isolationism” and “inward-looking” policies.

He anchored the alliance in tangible reality: the AUKUS pact, joint aerospace production, and a staggering $1.7 trillion in mutual investment. He pointedly mentioned that NATO’s Article 5 has been invoked only once to defend the United States after 9/11offering a quiet rebuttal to contemporary skepticism regarding collective defense. Against the backdrop of the war in Iran and trade tensions involving digital taxes and tariffs, his call for “unyielding resolve” served as a high-level diplomatic intervention that elected leaders, constrained by the “not Winston Churchill” level of personal friction, often find impossible to articulate.

 A 250-Year-Old Lesson in Resilience

King Charles III’s address was far more than a ceremonial duty; it was a blueprint for institutional survival. By weaving together humor about “hostage” MPs, the citation counts of the Magna Carta, and the shared soil of Runnymede, the King reminded the world’s most powerful republic why it exists. He presented a vision of two nations that are most resilient when they remember their shared origins and respect the limits of power.

As the United States nears its semi-quincentennial, the visit leaves us with a provocative question: In an age of increasing political volatility, can ancient institutios and shared legal histories provide the stability that modern politics cannot?

Prof Dr Shujaul Mulk Khan

Every year, the arrival of 1st May brings speeches, rallies, official holidays, and public recognition of workers across the globe. Known as Labor Day or International Workers’ Day, it is meant to celebrate the dignity of work and honor those whose labor sustains societies and economies. Yet beyond the celebrations, an important question remains: Does Labor Day truly change the lives of workers, or has it gradually become a symbolic event that reminds us more of unfinished responsibilities than completed achievements?

Labor Day emerged from struggle rather than ceremony. In the late nineteenth century, industrial workers protested exhausting working hours, unsafe conditions, and extremely low wages. The demand for an eight-hour workday became a global movement that reshaped labor laws and forced governments to recognize workers as central to economic development. The rights many workers enjoy today – weekly holidays, workplace safety regulations, minimum wages, and social protections – are rooted in those historic sacrifices. Labor Day, therefore, represents a victory for human dignity. However, the realities faced by millions of workers today suggest that the struggle is far from over. For many laborers, especially in developing countries, Labor Day offers recognition but little immediate relief.

A daily wage worker who depends on each day’s income may not experience the holiday as celebration but as lost earnings. Ceremonial speeches rarely translate into improved working conditions or stronger social protection systems. The true value of Labor Day lies not in public events but in whether it inspires governments, employers, and societies to renew their commitment to justice and fairness in the workplace.

Despite technological progress and economic globalization, labor exploitation still exists in different forms. Across South Asia, construction workers, factory employees, agricultural laborers, and domestic workers often work long hours with minimal job security. Informal employment remains widespread, leaving workers without contracts, insurance, or legal protection. Economic growth has expanded industries, yet many workers remain trapped in cycles of poverty.

In Africa, miners extracting valuable minerals essential for modern electronics frequently operate in dangerous environments. Their labor supports global technological advancement, yet they often receive low wages and limited safety protection. The situation reflects a global contradiction: the modern world depends on workers whose own living conditions remain fragile. The experience of migrant workers in Gulf countries further illustrates these challenges. Millions leave their homes in South Asia and Africa seeking better livelihoods. While many succeed in improving their families’ economic conditions, others face delayed salaries, recruitment debts, restricted mobility, or crowded living arrangements. Reforms introduced in countries such as Saudi Arabia and other Gulf states have aimed to improve wage protection and labor rights, but implementation gaps still affect workers’ daily realities.

Migration offers opportunity, yet it also exposes workers to vulnerability when oversight is weak. The issue of wages remains at the heart of labor dignity. Around the world, workers struggle not only with low salaries but also with irregular or delayed payments. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the world witnessed migrant laborers walking long distances after losing jobs overnight, revealing how fragile economic systems can be for those living without savings or social security. Even in wealthier economies, gig-economy workers face uncertain incomes and lack long-term protection such as pensions or healthcare benefits. Employment exists, but stability does not always follow.

History shows that meaningful improvement occurs when governments enact strong labor laws and ensure their enforcement. Legal frameworks protecting minimum wages, occupational safety, collective bargaining rights, and social welfare programs have transformed working conditions in many parts of the world. Yet laws alone are insufficient unless supported by transparent governance, effective inspection systems, and accountability. Governments must treat labor protection not as charity but as a cornerstone of sustainable development. There is also significant room for improvement in preparing workers for future challenges.

Automation, artificial intelligence, and climate change are reshaping labor markets. Workers displaced by technological change require access to education, vocational training, and reskilling opportunities. Formalizing informal employment sectors can extend legal protection to millions who currently remain invisible in economic statistics. Expanding digital payment systems, worker registration, and social protection coverage can help ensure that no worker is excluded from national development.
Another overlooked dimension of labor welfare is the impact of wars and conflicts. Throughout history, workers have borne the heaviest burden of instability. Armed conflicts destroy factories, disrupt agriculture, and collapse local economies, leaving workers unemployed and displaced.

Families lose livelihoods overnight, and migration becomes a necessity rather than a choice. Reconstruction after wars again depends on laborers, highlighting the deep connection between peace and economic security. Protecting workers therefore requires not only economic policies but also political stability and international cooperation. The deeper message of Labor Day is profoundly human. Every building constructed, every road paved, every harvest gathered, and every service delivered reflects human effort and perseverance. Workers are not merely economic units; they are individuals supporting families, nurturing communities, and sustaining nations. Economic growth that ignores worker welfare ultimately weakens social stability and moral responsibility.

The take-home message from 1st May is clear: celebrating workers once a year is not enough. True respect for labor must appear in fair wages paid on time, safe workplaces, equal opportunities, and social protection systems that safeguard dignity during hardship. Labor Day should serve as a yearly reflection – a reminder that progress must be measured not only by economic indicators but by the well-being of those who make development possible.

When societies move beyond symbolic celebration toward genuine commitment, Labor Day becomes more than a historical remembrance. It becomes a living promise that work will always be connected with dignity, justice, and hope for a better future.

Prof Dr Shujaul Mulk Khan
Department Plant Science, Quaid-i-Azam University Islamabad – qau.edu.pk/profile.php?id=804024 – [email protected]