How power, politics and fear reshaped our universities

A university is meant to be a sanctuary of thought - a place where ideas clash, where voices rise and where the future quietly takes shape in classrooms, corridors and debates. But in Pakistan, the university has never truly been silent and yet, paradoxically, it has never been allowed to express freely. For decades, campuses across the country have stood not merely as centres of education, but as battlegrounds. They have carried the weight of ideology, the burden of political ambition and the scars of state intervention. What should have been a space for intellectual awakening has become a theatre of control and fear. This story did not begin in darkness. It began with hope.

Before Pakistan even existed, students were not passive observers of history. They were its architects. The Muslim Students Federation, inspired by the vision of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, transformed youthful energy into political force. Campuses became centres of resistance, of a dream that would eventually become a nation. Students were not tools, they were leaders.

But after independence, something shifted. The same campuses that once nurtured freedom began to fracture along ideological lines. On one side stood progressive voices like the Democratic Students Federation, demanding rights, equality and intellectual freedom. On the other stood organisations like Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba, advocating for a moral and religious framework. The university became divided, not by discipline or thought, but by competing visions of Pakistan itself.

Still, despite the conflicts, there was life. There was debate. There was democracy. The 1960s proved the true power of students. When the state tightened its grip under authoritarian rule, it was the students who resisted. They marched, organised and ultimately shook the foundations of power. Their voices echoed beyond campus gates, merging with workers and citizens, forcing a nation to listen. For a moment, the university was exactly what it was meant to be: a force of change. But power does not easily tolerate challenge.

In 1984, under the regime of Gen Zia-ul-Haq, student unions were banned. The justification was to restore order and discipline the youth. But the reality was far more complex and far more damaging. The ban did not depoliticise campuses. It suffocated them. In the absence of structured unions, politics did not disappear. It mutated. Without accountability, student organisations became extensions of political parties, loyal not to students but to the distant leadership. Debate was replaced with dominance. Dialogue gave way to intimidation. And in some cases, ideas were silenced by force. Campuses that once echoed with arguments began to echo with fear. Weapons entered spaces where books should have ruled. Patronage replaced merit. Students, once leaders in their own right, became foot soldiers in battles they did not control.

Even today, the illusion persists that student politics has been contained. But beneath the surface it thrives, unregulated and deeply entangled with mainstream political agendas. Major parties maintain their presence through financial support, ideological narratives and promises of future power. Students are offered opportunities - internships, loans, placements - but often at the hidden cost of loyalty. In this system, politics is no longer about consciousness but about control. Campuses today are marked by polarisation. Students are divided not just by opinion but also by identity. Political disagreement is no longer a pathway to understanding - it is a trigger for hostility. Many students no longer question their leaders, instead they defend them blindly. Critical thinking, the very essence of education, begins to erode. And the cost is devastating.

The tragic killing of Mashal Khan in 2017 exposed the dark side of this environment. A student who dared question authority became a victim of a mob fueled by misinformation and manipulation. His death was a tragedy and a warning. When spaces of dialogue are destroyed, extremism fills the void. Perhaps the most silent crisis is the one no one sees immediately - the loss of leadership. There was a time when student unions served as the training ground for future leaders - individuals who understood debate, compromise and representation. Today, that pathway is broken. Politics at the national level is dominated by entrenched elites, while young, capable minds are left without a voice. Many choose to leave.

This quiet exodus is not just about economic opportunity. It is about disillusionment. When young people feel they have no stake in their own country's future, they search for belonging elsewhere. And so, the university - once a cradle of leadership - risks becoming a corridor to exit. Attempts to restore student unions have been made, laws have been passed and promises have been repeated. Yet, implementation remains elusive. Political will falters where control is at stake. Because an independent student body is unpredictable - it cannot be easily managed, easily directed or easily silenced. But that unpredictability is exactly what democracy requires.

The future of Pakistan does not lie in controlled campuses or motivated students. It lies in spaces where disagreement is safe, where leadership is earned and where voices are not just heard but respected. The university must be reclaimed, not as a battlefield but as a forum. Not as a tool of power, but as a platform for growth. Because when you silence students, you do not create stability, you create stagnation. And a nation that fears its youth ultimately fears its own future.