The politics and possibility of archives in Pakistan
A fragile paper holding secrets and wisdom of our past remains buried in dust and paperwork, taking the seeker long hours that often turn into endless days to unite with what lies merely at arm’s length. In the country’s provincial and national archives, more time is spent filling access forms, waiting for relevant signatures, acquiring permission letters, and going back and forth for required files than is devoted to the actual act of research.
This excessively complicated administrative process reflects the chains of bureaucracy stifling the possibilities found in our precious records, the hard work of dedicated staff, and the creativity of researchers. The point of rules is to make the process easy, but these rules, where in place, are arbitrarily applied, becoming unnecessary roadblocks that are made and unmade on an everyday basis by those who hold even the slightest of power.
For archives, which are already contested sites of knowledge production, this dynamic produces hierarchies, ultimately deciding who controls memory, what is forgotten, and what is remembered. While the right to information and archives is guaranteed by Article 19-A of the Constitution and Right to Access to Information (2017), bureaucracy and weak supporting infrastructure limit engagement with the archival wealth for students, researchers, scholars, let alone making it accessible for the general public.
“Many records are still lying in boxes after being moved from the archives,” shared Zainab Arshad, a PhD student working in the Punjab Archives. “The labeling work on the new cabinets has not been completed,” she added, her frustration pointing to the faceless bureaucracy pervading through centuries-old documents despite substantial investments made to support archives.
Punjab Archives, the country’s largest repository, sits in the Civil Secretariat in Lahore, holding over 7,000,000 official documents and 70,000 rare books from Mughal chronicles to colonial correspondence. These treasures, however, have spent decades in unsuitable conditions. The Anarkali Tomb, which once housed the archives, became inadequate owing to unattended infrastructure. Only recently did the authorities begin renovating the site, transferring records to a nearby building. But the move has not eased researchers’ access as the renovation appears more symbolic than systemic.
The situation is indeterminate in other archives, with signs of neglect and reform. Sindh Archives, located in Karachi’s Main Clifton, presents an example of institutional commitment. The collection, comprising around 46,600 records and 3,000 manuscripts in Sindhi, Arabic, and Persian, is well catalogued and accessible. Maps, gazettes, and commissionerate papers are neatly stored, and some have been exhibited to the public. Archivists here credit consistent provincial support. Yet, even in this relative success, Karachi’s humidity and flood risk threaten the paper’s survival.
Compared to its older provincial counterparts, the Balochistan Archives is relatively young, starting operations from around 1985, when the province appointed a trained archivist, one of the few in Pakistan at the time. The Directorate of Archives is currently housed in a single ground-floor room of the Balochistan Secretariat in Quetta, its modest space underscoring both the fragility and resilience of recordkeeping in the province.
The Directorate of Archives & Libraries, Peshawar, too, carries a rich history. Originating in 1946 as the Central Record Office, it now preserves colonial and early post-Partition material. Meanwhile, the National Archives of Pakistan, founded in 1973 under the Cabinet Division, holds numerous documents, around 19,000 rare books, and collections of key figures. But even the national repository struggles with basic compliance as ministries often delay the transfer of records, leaving crucial parts of our history scattered or lost.
While this is nowhere close to an exhaustive list, a reflection on our main repositories highlights a broader trend of fragmentation that is not accidental. Dilapidated buildings, missing air-conditioning, and incomplete catalogues in many places indicate not just administrative gaps but an indifferent attitude to preserving history and culture. Despite the tireless efforts of archivists and staff, the system does not allow an environment conducive to research, with numerous delays and circular paths for access, keeping undigitized archives largely locked away from the public.
Analyzing the root cause by reflecting upon her experiences in various provincial archives of the country, Zoya Sameen, Assistant Professor of History at the Aga Khan University, observed that globally, archives did not emerge as bureaucratic institutions. “Fundamentally, archives are public knowledge. But, because archives in Pakistan are part of our colonial legacy, they are functions of power,” noted Sameen, who while acknowledging the challenges, remained hopeful about the promise of the country’s archives. To fulfil that promise, however, it is important to understand where the exact fault lines lie.
Behind high vaults of bureaucracy
Imagine a maze. You turn corner after corner, trace twisted paths, and when the finish line finally seems near, you’re sent back to the start, this time for a missing photograph. For many researchers in Pakistan, navigating through the jungle of archives, this is a recurring frustration.
Iffat Azeem, a researcher at the Lahore Museum, shared that reaching the Punjab Archives, housed within the Punjab Civil Secretariat, itself is an ordeal. “The biggest problem is access and what complicates the process of research is that the staff only provides the file that is specifically requested, though one reference often opens many other paths. This restriction makes organic, exploratory research nearly impossible,” complained Azeem.
Even when access is granted, further approvals are required in most cases, making the process unnecessarily time-consuming. Faizan Naqvi, known as “Lahore ka Khoji” for his work on the city’s historical heritage, described the daily frustrations. “Sometimes, permission isn’t even given to take a photo on a mobile phone. You have to first submit an application, and then wait several days for approval. This exhausting process is a product of administrative inefficiency, set in place by a culture of bureaucracy, often directed by the higher-ups,” opined Naqvi.
Zahra Sabri, lecturer and researcher in History and Literature at Habib University, pointed out the unsaid politics of archives. “In many cases, successful access often depends on repeated visits and establishing a relationship of familiarity and cooperation with the staff. The role of archivists can either ease or reinforce the same bureaucracy they themselves inhabit,” stated Sabri.
Dr. Daniel Joseph Majchrowicz, Associate Professor of South Asian Literature and Culture at Northwestern University, echoed a similar observation. While conducting archival research in the country, he found archivists to be notably helpful in extracting relevant files, especially in the Punjab Public Library. However, he recalled an instance where he waited for days to find relevant sources in the Bahawalpur Public Library. Once found, their staff was unable to locate keys for the locked cupboard, and he returned empty-handed.
These problems are merely the tip of the iceberg, where even the nature of access and archival experience itself is shaped by institutional privilege, connections, and status, indicating how power mediates knowledge not only in Pakistan but in broader post-colonial contexts. “Gaining or being denied access to archives is often determined by a complex set of social categories and simply showing up to research is often not enough to gain the access one deserves,” emphasized Majchrowicz. Foreign scholars often have easier access than local researchers, and these disparities are also seen in the differential treatment of public and private university students and researchers.
The cumulative effect of these layered constraints, as Sameen pointed out, is that “Sources decide the specific kind of history that is written.” When access to archives is restricted, researchers also narrow their focus. A lack of coordination among provincial archives only compounds this fragmentation. Some collections are in Islamabad, others in Lahore, Karachi, or Quetta, each governed by its own set of procedures. Connecting these scattered sources remains an unfulfilled need, and an even more challenging task remains tracing pre-Partition sources that lie across the border.
In this landscape, Balochistan Archives was a ray of hope. The Directorate has benefited from the generous work of Dr. Hafeez Jamali, who made the archives accessible and navigable. Yet, as Sameen noted, “In Pakistan, accessibility often depends on who’s at the top. Every few years, the situation changes.” With Jamali no longer serving there, things have become difficult, as the well-resourced website for the archives has gone missing in recent years.
It is no surprise then that many researchers, wherever they can, prefer to visit foreign archives instead of visiting Pakistan. “The British Library archives are much easier to navigate. Archivists there rarely intervene. Their job is to help, not to gatekeep,” shared Sameen. But since the country’s archives hold numerous rare documents that do not have copies elsewhere, there is a need to make the process smoother for all those interested by resolving inherent procedural and infrastructural issues.
Missing infrastructure
In many repositories, bundles of paper have been eaten away by termites while damp walls darkened by mold threaten to collapse under their own weight. Likewise, open windows and poor ventilation leave fragile records exposed to humidity, dust, and insects, with incomplete catalogues only adding to the distress of researchers.
While the Sindh Archives fares somewhat better, it too struggles against Karachi’s unforgiving humidity. Staff report frequent infestations and mold outbreaks, while paper and photographs degrade under fluctuating temperatures. Humidity, combined with the city’s salty air, threatens to deteriorate valuable material. Similarly, in Peshawar, the provincial archives bear some marks of institutional indifference, with dim lighting making it difficult to read sources. Despite these challenges, the staff perform preservation work diligently with whatever resources they have.
Upon entering the archives, researchers travelling long distances discover that the material they seek is uncatalogued, misfiled, or inaccessible. None of the archives have comprehensive websites or catalogues. Policies on access, scanning, or fees also remain unclear. With no detailed inventories or accession numbers, citation too becomes difficult. Many catalogues date back to the colonial period or are handwritten. Without proper indexing, large parts of the archives remain inaccessible or effectively invisible.
Researchers working on regional languages or rare records find their searches particularly frustrating. The Punjab Archives offers one alarming example. Several Persian-language sources, including sources from the Sikh period and many valuable records in B Files, remain uncatalogued, their contents out of reach for those without connections. Hence, for the majority of researchers, finding critical documents becomes a matter of luck.
This absence of reference entries in catalogues, abstracts, and descriptions means that communities whose histories exist within these documents remain unrepresented. For instance, the Khwajasira community relies on oral histories, but cannot connect with references in Mughal and colonial records, as they are rarely described in catalogues.
Sobo Malik, spokesperson for the Khawaja Sira Society (KSS) in Lahore, explained this dilemma. “The community holds the Mughal figure of Mai Nandi in high regard, a name that surfaces in selected Persian texts, but remains nearly impossible to trace through institutional records. The absence of indexing or translation means such figures are excluded from written history, surviving only through word of mouth,” noted Malik.
The archival departments are unable to resolve these issues since they themselves receive barely enough to pay staff and maintain buildings, leaving little for preservation or cataloguing. For example, between 2020 and 2025, the Punjab Archives and Libraries Wing received Rs2.5 billion, over 80% of which went to salaries and maintenance, leaving little for digitization, restoration, or cataloguing.
Similarly, in Sindh, out of the total budget allocation for the Culture, Tourism, Antiquities, and Archives department, only around 10% is spent on museums, archives, and libraries throughout the province. This shows that archives fall outside of the state’s list of priorities. These cracks in the archival infrastructure signal an urgent need for serious digitization that might save the otherwise neglected sources.
The unfinished business of digitization
Once gathering dust in Anarkali’s tomb, the records of the Punjab Archives are slowly entering the digital age. According to Director Shamim Jafri, over a million pages, from 1849 to 1870, have been scanned. Yet, most rare sources remain undigitized, surrounded by logistical and political inadequacies.
Digitization, hailed as the solution to access barriers, has been marred by insufficient funding, limited technical expertise, and bureaucratic hesitation. Many digitization projects in Pakistan are announced but rarely completed, or they digitize only a small section of large collections.
Even when there is sufficient funding, as it appears to be the case for Punjab Archives, things might not go as smoothly. “While some may have the money, there is little understanding of how to carry out the task,” commented Sameen. She expanded that archivists often lack proper training, and historians are seldom consulted, relying on manual cataloguing systems that make research a slow, uncertain pursuit. The result is uneven quality, poor metadata, and fragile documents damaged by bright scanners and mishandling.
Digitization is not simply a technical matter but, like most things in the country, is a political one. An official, on account of anonymity, admitted that senior bureaucrats often dismiss the concept as unnecessary due to their own egos. This reluctance causes long delays and internal disputes over which materials deserve to be digitized. For the public, this gatekeeping has real consequences. “Many people visit the archives, including the archive gazette sections, to retrieve land documents for court cases. Even government departments rely on undigitized files,” revealed the official.
Majchrowicz, who is also a board member of the Modern Endangered Archives Program (MEAP), emphasized that digitization is especially vital in climate-sensitive countries like Pakistan. He advocated for clear preservation guidelines: avoiding harsh lighting, using acid-free materials, and training staff to protect collections and prevent theft or misuse. He also proposed adopting a consistent and standardized text-search system for Urdu and other languages to make archives accessible.
In this regard, Sindh Archives offers a glimpse of possibility. Its Preservation Lab uses advanced conservation methods, including fumigation, acid removal, and lamination, to extend the life of records for centuries. Millions of papers and maps have been scanned, and modern fire systems have been incorporated to mitigate any damage. For many, archives hold a deeper, sentimental value as Archivist Gul Naz explained, “We have to think of these not as old papers, but as living memory.”
Similarly, the Directorate of Archives & Libraries in Peshawar also presents a welcoming attitude to digitization, following detailed guidelines and modern technology to facilitate the process. They also provide access to the Higher Education Commission’s (HEC) digital library, but the problem there is little public interest. Across the country, digitization remains an effort that could democratize access to the collective past, but instead seems to be caught as a cog in the larger machine of bureaucracy.
Gender in the archives
Not long ago, Wazir Khan Baradari, the open-air reading room of the Punjab Public Library, was completely closed off to women. The printed sign on its gate stood as a reminder that public knowledge in Pakistan remains highly gendered and exclusionary.
This notice reflects a larger structural reality where the country has rarely taken its women seriously, especially within the realms of knowledge production. History-writing in South Asia has long been a male-dominated space, and while there are global efforts to make it more inclusive, our country refuses to give the matter its due importance.
Within archives, women’s experiences often depend on how effectively they can negotiate informal patriarchal power structures to gain access. “Sometimes, to gain sober and serious cooperation at government archives, a researcher may have to pull rank or even imply media access to shine a light on poor functionality. Rarely, one also finds institutions which are well-functioning, professional, and eager to serve,” said Sabri.
Sameen, who is researching prostitution in colonial India, shared that she sometimes frames her research through the lens of medicine or women's empowerment to ease access to colonial records. At the same time, she noted that class and institutional privilege, not only gender, determine how much resistance a researcher may face.
This structuring and culture in archives decide who gets to write about history and whose past is worth preserving. Such an exclusionary dynamic is particularly worrisome in a country that already lags in research.
Hierarchy of knowledge
Often relying on borrowed narratives and guesswork, we remain decades behind in research. With almost no state-supported research grants in the humanities, local scholars often fund their own work or depend on collective, community-driven efforts. The absence of academic unions or advocacy groups further means that there are no organized platforms to demand structural change or sustained funding.
Projects stall midway, researchers abandon years of work, and young academics lose confidence. In some cases, promising intellectuals turn away from research altogether, finding it unsustainable. Meanwhile, foreign scholars on Pakistan have easier access to international archives, from the British Library to the Centre of South Asian Studies at Cambridge, where even the original copies of several key documents related to Pakistan are preserved and digitized.
This disparity creates a hierarchy in knowledge production. As local projects on Pakistan struggle, those written by foreign academics may take precedence. While these projects are well-intentioned, illuminating works, it is a moment of reflection that almost no opportunities exist in our country to support its own people in the relevant field.
Despite the challenges, enthusiasts have not given up hope. In fact, our country’s history is rich with examples of self-made archivists, personal libraries, and community-led initiatives, utilizing personal resources to preserve rare historical material. “Private passion often outstrips institutional efforts,” Sabri noted, pointing out many private collections, free from the grip of bureaucratic inertia, that have documented and preserved historical materials more effectively and expansively than have institutions.
Take the example of Masood Jhandir Research Library, Sharfabad Bedil Library, Mushfiq Khwaja Library, Anjuman-i Taraqqi-i-Urdu, Ahmad Saleem’s South Asian Research & Resource Center (SARRC), Lutfullah Khan Archives, Sunday Bazaars, and many private and public universities that offer a wealth of archives – all of which deserve attention this piece is too short for.
These private collections are a story of people’s resilience and of our unique ways of preserving our pasts, serving as guides for authorities to learn from. The final hope is that there is a public willing to critically engage with this treasure.