Najm us Saqib
A palpable, agitated energy filled the conference room. The hastily convened meeting in the downtown think tank’s hall was a pressure cooker of opinions. Individuals around the heavy oak table—each a stakeholder in the nation’s psyche—leaned in, their voices cutting through the hum of the struggling air conditioning. This was no dry policy review; it was the feverish autopsy of a national symbol. Every word laid bare the hopes, fears, and deep-seated cynicism of a country at a crossroads.
The Outraged Patriot: Just thirty-five billion for seventy-five per cent? Peanuts! The government nets a pittance in immediate cash. I smell a rat. Why was the bidding threshold lowered? Where were the international players? And the clause to buy back shares if it profits? That’s an admission of staggering incompetence. Why sell only to plan on repurchasing success?
The Retired Diplomat: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The deal needs a final set of approvals. If this buyer backs out, the next bidder gets a turn. The sole silver lining is that this passes a critical IMF test for reform credibility. It’s a calculated compromise—between the efficiency of full privatisation and the fiscal risk of total state control.
The Serving Federal Secretary: Necessary surgery is always painful. For years, this institution was not an airline; it was a social welfare scheme with wings. Our choice was between perpetual, life-support transfusion or this difficult operation. This isn’t about profit today; it’s about preventing total collapse tomorrow. Judge us not by this single transaction, but by whether the patient walks again.
The Concerned Citizen: My worry is twofold: accountability and human cost. Where will this money go? A televised bid isn’t a transparency guarantee. And what happens to the employees after their one-year guarantee? This is a human crisis waiting to happen.
The Angry Bidder: Transparency? A fiction. Our consortium offered not just in price, but in a clear, five-year modernisation plan. We were told that our financial structure was ‘too complex.’ It means we weren’t the preferred horse. This wasn’t a bid; it was an anointment. The real cost won’t be the sale price, but the decades of lost potential.
The Relieved Economist: Good riddance to a white elephant! It was consuming billions annually. If nothing else, we stop the bleeding. Hopefully, the Steel Mill is next. The best part is the decision—however hybrid—to finally do the right thing. Let’s pull our socks up.
Policy Analyst: Privatising flag carriers is a global norm. The twenty-five per cent model aims for commercial efficiency while retaining a legal lever for national interest. Its success depends entirely on a clear shareholder agreement where the government acts as a professional investor, not a meddling manager.
Legal Expert: It’s about the ‘Golden Share’—a strategic blocking minority. That stake allows vetoes over major decisions: mergers, asset sales, changes to the charter. They get a board seat for a voice in strategy, but not operational control. It’s influence without interference. In theory, that is.
The Cynic: Oh, brilliant! So, the private sector reaps profits in good times, and the State, as the minority owner, is expected to bail it out in bad times. We socialise the losses and privatise the gains. What an innovative model for Pakistan!
The Conspiracist: Why is no one talking about deliberate sabotage? The airline was plagued by bad governance, yes—but were they engineered? Was it run into the ground to justify a cheap sale to a chosen few? The entire timeline reeks of a planned demolition.
The Professor: This is a classic case study in institutional decay and the privatisation paradox. We are treating the symptom—the fiscal haemorrhage—while institutionalising the disease: a lack of meritocracy, political capture, and regulatory failure. Selling a monopoly without first creating a competitive regulatory environment simply transfers power from one set of elites to another. We haven’t embraced a market; we’ve auctioned a feudal estate.
The Industry Veteran: My fear is perpetual government interference. Every commercial decision requiring the twenty-five per cent shareholder’s nod will be slow and politicised. This ‘strategic influence’ will strangle the very agility privatisation is supposed to bring. Old ghosts will haunt the new management.
The Man in the Street: You talk of billions. I will talk about this: the free rides were for you, not for me. Will this sale put bread on my table? Probably not. But your white elephant never did either. My only hope is that maybe the new owner will need a baggage handler who is hired because he can lift a suitcase, not because he knows a minister’s driver.
The Moral Auditor: If we strip away nationalism and suspicion, we are left with a moral ledger. For decades, we enjoyed the romance of a flag carrier while silently consenting to its corruption. Our sin was that we were complacent. This sale isn’t just a transaction; it’s a settlement of a long-standing moral debt. Are we paying this debt, or just passing it on with our unlearned lessons?
The International Strategist: They see a balance sheet. What I see is a geopolitical chessboard. In one move—obedience to the IMF, yet protectionism for local capital—they have privatised a piece of their sovereignty. The world isn’t judging the price; it’s assessing their desperation and future alignment. This isn’t an end. It’s the first move in a much longer game.
The room fell silent, the weight of the diagnosis settling in. The autopsy was complete, but the prognosis remained agonisingly unclear.
The writer is a former Ambassador of Pakistan and author of eight books in three languages. He can be reached at najmussaqib1960@msn.com
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