By Sardar Khan Niazi

Political protests have long been part of Pakistan’s democratic rhythm. From the anti-dictatorship movements of the past to the sit-ins and long marches of the present, protest remains a defining feature of our political landscape. Although such movements often claim to fight for the people, ordinary citizens bear the heaviest burden when politics spills onto the streets. In Islamabad, the capital often finds itself paralyzed by political rallies. Major roads are sealed, public transport suspended, and residents trapped in gridlock for hours. Schools close, daily wage earners lose income, and businesses suffer. For many, political protest has come to symbolize not democratic vitality, but disruption and fatigue. When politics takes to the streets, the citizen ends up paying the price. In cities like Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi, a day of agitation can translate into lost wages for daily earners, missed classes for students, and delayed ambulances for patients. When political leaders mobilize crowds to pressure the government, the citizen often becomes collateral damage in a contest of power. Political parties frequently weaponise protest not as a means of dialogue but as a display of strength, while authorities treat demonstrators as adversaries rather than citizens. The absence of a culture of negotiation means every standoff becomes a test of endurance rather than a step towards reform. Meanwhile, the citizen stuck in traffic jams, facing economic losses, and living under a cloud of uncertainty becomes disillusioned. The ideals of democracy begin to feel distant when participation only seems to bring disruption, not change. Over time, this exhaustion breeds apathy, weakening the very democratic fabric that protest is meant to strengthen. The solution lies in restoring the moral and civic purpose of protest. Political leaders must remember that public spaces belong to the people, not to any one party or ideology. Protests that respect the rights of others that aim to persuade rather than paralyze, can still serve as powerful instruments of change. Likewise, the state must protect the right to peaceful assembly while ensuring that order and public welfare are not sacrificed. In recent years, political rallies have increasingly become tools of pressure rather than platforms of reform. Whether it is one party marching toward the capital to demand early elections or another staging a counter-protest to display its strength, the objective rarely seems to be dialogue. Instead, these spectacles are designed to test the state’s patience and display street power, often at the expense of public safety and national stability. The state’s response has been equally problematic. Heavy-handed crackdowns, internet shutdowns, and arbitrary arrests not only infringe on democratic freedoms but also deepen citizens’ alienation. A government’s legitimacy is not reinforced by suppressing dissent, nor is a protest’s moral standing enhanced by holding citizens hostages in their own cities. The ordinary Pakistani — the shopkeeper, the student, the commuter — finds themselves caught in this tug-of-war between power and opposition. For a nation already facing inflation, unemployment, and political uncertainty, the repeated paralysis caused by protests adds yet another layer of hardship. What Pakistan needs is a culture of responsible protest and responsive governance. Political leaders must learn to channel dissent within democratic frameworks — to negotiate, to legislate, to reform — rather than to block highways and shut down cities. The right to protest must be protected, but so too must the rights of those who simply wish to go to work, school, or hospital without fear or delay. Democracy does not flourish in chaos. It thrives when protest serves purpose rather than politics, when dissent enlightens rather than exhausts. The challenge before Pakistan’s leaders is not to silence the street, but to listen and to act before citizens lose faith in both politics and protest alike.