by Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal

Tax collection has always been an indispensable pillar in the architecture of a functioning state. Since the earliest formations of organized governance, levying taxes has been a standard practice to ensure the sustenance of administrative machinery, provision of public services, and the defense of the realm. No society, however prosperous or modest, can remain viable without a steady inflow of revenue, and taxes provide precisely that foundation. In modern states, particularly those with large populations and growing development needs, tax collection becomes not merely a fiscal necessity but a moral and civic obligation. Citizens who enjoy the privileges and protections offered by the state are expected, in return, to contribute their due share. This principle, though universally acknowledged in theory, often faces glaring contradictions in practice.

Pakistan, unfortunately, presents a classic example of this discrepancy. Despite repeated campaigns and policy measures to broaden the tax base, there remains a large segment of society that views tax payment not as a duty, but as a burden to be shirked. Various interest groups, often shielded by special patronage or informal networks, have for decades found ways to escape their share of contribution. Yet, amidst this culture of evasion and selective accountability, there exists one group that bears the burden consistently and inevitably—the government servants.

Unlike many other classes, the salaried government employees in Pakistan have no room to maneuver or evade. Their income, being drawn directly from the state exchequer, is subject to automatic deductions at the source. Regardless of their consent or financial flexibility, they are taxed before their salaries even reach their hands. And this past fiscal year, these deductions reached a record high. According to recent reports, the salaried class contributed an astounding Rs. 545 billion in income tax during the fiscal year ending June 30, 2025. This contribution not only surpassed but dwarfed the combined tax paid by two other significant segments of the economy—exporters and retailers.

Exporters, despite enjoying the benefits of earning in foreign currency and having access to substantial government incentives, paid only Rs180 billion. Retailers, a politically entrenched group historically resistant to documentation and regulation, contributed a meager Rs62 billion under sections 236G and 236H of the Income Tax Ordinance. When added together, these two sectors paid Rs242 billion—less than half of what the salaried class alone contributed. This disparity speaks volumes about the structural inequalities embedded within the tax regime. Why are income tax rates not levied on other sectors of life at the same rate and with the same spirit as government employees? This question echoes across the corridors of public discourse, unanswered and inconvenient.

The government employees’ contribution of Rs545 billion marked a sharp increase from Rs367 billion in the previous fiscal year, indicating an additional burden of Rs178 billion. Such a dramatic rise, though indicative of increased revenue collection, also highlights the lack of equitable tax enforcement across sectors. It is deeply ironic that those who are most exposed, most transparent in their earnings, and least able to avoid taxation, are the ones carrying the largest share of the burden.

The much-publicized Tajir Dost Scheme (TDS), introduced with fanfare as a mechanism to bring retailers into the formal tax net, has largely failed to deliver on its promises. Retailers, despite their profitability and volume of transactions, have managed to evade meaningful taxation yet again. Sections 236G and 236H, which impose taxes on distributors, dealers, wholesalers, and retailers based on their gross sales, were meant to serve as deterrents against non-compliance. However, even these measures have resulted in limited success. While they have generated some revenue and forced a few into the net, the overall response remains lukewarm.

In light of this, the Federal Board of Revenue (FBR) has attempted to offer some relief to the already overburdened salaried class. According to FBR’s officials, the first two tax slabs have been revised downward for the fiscal year 2025-26. Individuals earning between Rs600,000 and Rs1.2 million annually will now be taxed at 1 percent instead of 5 percent, and those earning between Rs1.2 million and Rs2.2 million will see their rate reduced from 15 percent to 11 percent. This adjustment is expected to provide a collective relief of Rs50 billion to the salaried class—though one could argue it is a modest reprieve considering the scale of their contribution.

Among the salaried class, government employees serving in teaching and research roles had long benefitted from a modest tax rebate—a recognition of their intellectual service to the nation. This rebate was first introduced under General Pervez Musharraf’s government in 2006 at a generous 75%, later reduced to 40% in 2013, and then to 25% by 2022. However, under the Finance Act 2022, the rebate was entirely withdrawn, leaving academicians and researchers without the relief they had relied upon for over a decade. In March 2025, following sustained advocacy by teacher associations, the federal cabinet reinstated the 25% rebate. Yet this reinstatement was met with resistance from the IMF, which objected to the rebate’s continuation on the grounds of tax harmonization.

Despite IMF pressure, the government, through the Finance Bill 2025–26, restored the 25% rebate retrospectively for Tax Years 2023, 2024, and 2025. This gesture has been welcomed as a step toward acknowledging the unique service of educators and researchers, though uncertainty looms over the rebate’s future. Such episodes illustrate the broader dilemma—whether national fiscal policy should prioritize external directives or respond to domestic needs and the principle of fairness.

In any fair and responsible state, the tax regime must be broad-based, equitable, and transparent. Burdening only those who are easily accessible while allowing powerful segments to remain untouched breeds resentment and erodes public trust. The salaried class, especially government servants, have performed their duty—often without applause or recognition. It is now time for other sectors to rise to the same standard. Equity in taxation is not merely a question of numbers; it is a test of the state’s moral authority and administrative integrity.

By Qamar Bashir

What happens when a nuclear-armed country—surrounded by rivals, forged by decades of warfare, and positioned at the junction of South Asia, Central Asia, and the Middle East—decides not just to survive, but to dominate the battlefield? This is not fiction. This is the evolving reality of Pakistan’s military transformation—an extraordinary arc of resilience, innovation, and rising strategic relevance on the global stage.

How does a country build a combat doctrine not from textbooks, but from blood, pressure, and relentless engagement? Pakistan’s army has not only witnessed war—it has lived it continuously. Its training fields are battle zones. Its soldiers are veterans long before promotion. Pakistan’s first decisive test came during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. Despite limited resources, it played a central role in organizing, arming, and coordinating the Afghan resistance. Over time, that resistance—backed by Pakistan’s strategy—contributed to the breakup of the Soviet Union itself. Western analysts may debate the scale of influence, but no one denies the pivotal role played by Pakistan in one of history’s most significant Cold War victories.

When the United States launched its global War on Terror after 9/11, where did they turn? Again, Pakistan became the key player. Hosting logistics hubs, launching independent military operations, and working in tandem with NATO, Pakistan didn’t just participate—it led. One U.S. general bluntly admitted that Pakistan’s Operation Zarb-e-Azb eliminated terrorist networks with such efficiency that it created panic across the border in Afghanistan, where NATO had failed for over a decade to contain insurgents. What made Pakistan’s operations so effective? Was it merely terrain familiarity, or was it the fusion of human intelligence, drone strikes, and synchronized air-ground execution that set the new gold standard in counterterrorism?

Unlike many modern armies that have stretches of peacetime, the Pakistan Armed Forces have had no such luxury. From the mountains of Waziristan to the deserts of Balochistan, from the urban conflict zones of Karachi to the Line of Control in Kashmir, Pakistan’s soldiers have fought continuously—against terrorists, insurgents, and foreign incursions. Has this constant engagement weakened the force? Quite the opposite. It has produced what few nations can boast: a battle-hardened, tactically mature, and psychologically resilient military corps—trained not in simulation, but in sustained warfare.

What did Pakistan learn from two decades of partnership with U.S. and NATO forces? Beyond tactical know-how, it absorbed critical competencies in ISR (Intelligence, Surveillance, Reconnaissance), electronic warfare, encrypted communications, cyber defense, drone operations, and joint-force coordination. These were not mere workshops—they were shared operations, combat tested. Over time, this knowledge was indigenized, integrated into local doctrine, and reinforced through Pakistan’s own institutions. Could it be said, then, that Pakistan now operates at near-parity with mid-tier NATO forces in digital battlefield integration? All indicators suggest: yes.

What makes Pakistan’s weaponry unique in the South Asian equation? Not the number of tanks or fighter jets, but the sophistication of its systems and the strategic logic behind their deployment. The Shaheen missile series grants Pakistan extended-range strike capability. The Nasr missile—the crown jewel of tactical deterrence—can be deployed at the battlefield level with nuclear payloads, neutralizing India’s Cold Start doctrine. The Babur and Ra’ad cruise missile systems, featuring stealth and terrain-hugging trajectories, provide multi-platform delivery from land, air, and sea. Are these systems merely symbolic? Or do they signal Pakistan’s mastery of strategic ambiguity and layered deterrence?

Pakistan’s aerial strength has also seen remarkable evolution. The JF-17 Thunder, co-produced with China, now in its Block III configuration, comes equipped with AESA radar, BVR (beyond visual range) missile compatibility, and stealth features. Add to that the acquisition of China’s J-10C fighters, which are comparable in capability to Western 4.5-generation aircraft, and the equation tilts. Pakistan’s pilots, many trained through real combat sorties and joint exercises with China, Turkey, and even NATO members, have repeatedly demonstrated agility, adaptability, and lethality.

Is air superiority the only game-changer? Far from it. Pakistan’s air defense matrix—once minimal—now includes the HQ-9B long-range surface-to-air missile system, backed by radar jamming and electronic warfare components.

On the seas, Pakistan’s Navy, though traditionally underfunded, is undergoing a serious upgrade. New Type 054A/P frigates and Hangor-class submarines (nuclear-capable variants included) are redefining maritime deterrence and second-strike capability. For a country with a short coastline, is such an investment justifiable? When considering the geopolitical value of Gwadar Port and the Indian Ocean trade arteries, the answer becomes self-evident.

How deeply integrated is Pakistan’s defense network with global power structures? In a revealing interview in 2025, Indian Army General Rahul Singh admitted that India no longer faces Pakistan alone. During recent standoffs, he explained, Pakistan’s military command had real-time intelligence on nearly every Indian maneuver—timings, locations, deployments.

Singh went further, acknowledging that China not only exerted pressure along India’s northern border but also shared satellite intelligence with Pakistan. He described the battlespace as a “board game” in which Pakistan and China coordinated to destabilize India’s options. Does this confirm what I theorized —that any military plan against Pakistan must now factor in China as an active deterrent? General Singh’s words remove all doubt.

While traditional defense spending and direct arms imports matter, another layer of Pakistan’s rise lies beneath the surface: the silent power of dual-use civilian technology. Over the past two decades, Pakistan has legally imported photolithography machines, CNC tools, aerospace-grade processors, encrypted satellite modules, and thermal guidance components—mostly under industrial or medical licenses from countries like Germany, France, Switzerland, Spain, the UK, and the United States. Were these tools left idle in labs? Quite the contrary. They were reverse-engineered, adapted, militarized.

Through institutions like NESCOM, SUPARCO, ISPAE, and the Strategic Plans Division, Pakistan has used these components to design indigenous missile guidance systems, encrypted communications, AI-enabled drones, radar-detection platforms, and anti-jamming technology. How resilient is this supply chain? Because it is global, diversified, and rooted in civilian sectors, it is not easily disabled by sanctions or embargoes.

Can Pakistan claim independence in defense innovation? Not entirely—but its trajectory is toward autonomy. It now maintains joint development labs with China, drone collaboration with Turkey, and ISR and electronic warfare alignment with Russia. The fusion of East and West, of Cold War-era tactics and AI-age capabilities, places Pakistan in a rare position: capable of matching regional threats while disrupting global ones.

When India launched Operation Sindoor in 2025 to strike insurgent bases, Pakistan’s response was swift and strategically devastating. It reportedly downed multiple Indian aircraft—Rafales, Mirage 2000s, and SU-30MKIs—using J-10Cs equipped with PL-15 long-range missiles. Supported by Chinese AWACS and electromagnetic warfare units, Pakistan neutralized the attack with minimal losses. Were these exaggerated claims? Possibly. But independent imagery confirmed at least three Indian aircraft losses. For once, narrative control in the region tilted decisively toward Pakistan.

How does all this culminate? It leads to one unambiguous conclusion. The Pakistan military has transformed from a reactive, survivalist institution into a sophisticated, digitally integrated, battle-proven force—on land, at sea, in the skies, and now, increasingly, in cyberspace. It is no longer just a South Asian power—it is a strategic actor with global deterrence value.

Whether navigating the snow-covered peaks of Kashmir, the electromagnetic spectrum of digital war, or the economic chokepoints of the Arabian Sea, the Pakistan Armed Forces operate with clarity, maturity, and technological depth. They are not preparing for war—they are ready for it.

And for any adversary, the calculus has changed. Because when you contemplate war with Pakistan, you’re no longer facing a single nation. You are confronting a military-industrial matrix, battle-forged by history, reinforced by technology, and shielded by alliances. The message is unmistakable: Pakistan military is operating at the next level.

By Qamar Bashir

 Press Secretary to the President (Rtd)

 Former Press Minister, Embassy of Pakistan to France

 Former MD, SRBC | Macomb, Michigan, USA