The Noise of Merit… or a Curtain for Inequality?

Between 1990 and 1993, the late Ghulam Haider Wyne, a man widely remembered for his simplicity, served as the Chief Minister of Punjab. He had completed only matriculation. One day, a highly educated Pakistani—holding a Master’s degree or perhaps even a PhD—approached him seeking employment.

The Chief Minister offered him a clerical position. The applicant protested, saying, “Sir, I have obtained higher education. Offering me a clerk’s job makes a mockery of merit.”

Wyne reportedly smiled and replied, “Forget merit. I am only a matriculate, yet I am the Chief Minister of Pakistan’s largest province. That is merit in our system. According to your qualifications, perhaps you should have been the President of Pakistan—but I cannot make you President.”

Whether one interprets the exchange as irony, realism, or criticism, it reflects a truth that continues to haunt Pakistan decades later. Merit is celebrated as the foundation of fairness, yet for millions of Pakistanis, it remains a privilege rather than an equal opportunity.

Every government, university, examination board, and recruitment authority proudly proclaims that admissions, scholarships, promotions, and jobs will be awarded strictly on merit. On paper, nothing sounds more just. After all, every society should reward talent, hard work, and ability.

But one fundamental question is rarely asked:

**Can merit truly exist where opportunity itself is unequal?**

Pakistan’s combined federal and provincial education allocation for the 2026–27 fiscal year stands at approximately **Rs. 1.91 trillion**. While this appears substantial, the reality on the ground tells a different story.

According to UNICEF, nearly **67 percent of Pakistan’s out-of-school children have never attended school at all.** They are not merely dropouts; they are children who have never crossed the threshold of a classroom.

Pakistan currently has around **26 million children between the ages of five and sixteen who are out of school**, making it the country with the world’s second-largest population of out-of-school children after Nigeria.

These numbers expose a painful contradiction.

How can a nation claim that university admissions, civil service examinations, and employment opportunities are based purely on merit when millions of children never receive the opportunity to begin their education?

The education system itself is deeply divided along economic lines.

For the poorest families, there are underfunded government schools, many lacking basic facilities. Some students still study while sitting on worn mats or broken furniture.

Private schools serving lower-income families charge approximately **Rs. 1,000 to Rs. 5,000 per month.**

Middle-class private institutions charge **Rs. 5,000 to Rs. 15,000 monthly.**

Well-known schools demand **Rs. 15,000 to Rs. 40,000 every month.**

Elite institutions catering to Pakistan’s privileged classes often charge **Rs. 40,000 to over Rs. 150,000 per month**, excluding admission fees, annual charges, security deposits, uniforms, books, transportation, examination fees, and various mandatory contributions.

In some prestigious institutions, families quietly acknowledge that generous “donations” or “development funds” significantly improve the chances of admission when seats are supposedly unavailable.

After all these expenses come private tuition and coaching academies, often costing another **Rs. 20,000 or more each month**, because even expensive schooling is frequently considered insufficient for achieving top examination results.

This is not one education system.

It is multiple education systems producing multiple versions of “merit.”

For affluent children, merit begins long before any examination.

It begins with educated parents, libraries at home, high-speed internet, laptops, private tutors, English-speaking environments, quiet study rooms, international curricula, and financial security.

For children from poor families, life often begins very differently.

Many attend schools with broken classrooms, electricity shortages, overcrowded facilities, and limited teaching resources. Others must work after school—or instead of attending school altogether—to help support their families.

Some walk several kilometres to reach school.

Many girls never receive permission to continue their education because of outdated social attitudes or the absence of nearby schools.

Thousands of rural schools suffer from teacher shortages, inadequate infrastructure, or poor learning outcomes.

Then, after years of entirely different educational journeys, both students are placed in the same examination hall and told that the result will reflect “merit.”

This is not equality.

It is inequality presented as fairness.

Pakistan’s widening economic challenges only deepen the problem.

Inflation, unemployment, rising living costs, and stagnant household incomes force countless families to choose between food and education.

Child labour, despite legal prohibitions, remains widespread.

Natural disasters frequently interrupt schooling.

Many young people attend classes during the day while working part-time jobs in the evenings simply to keep their education alive.

Meanwhile, another troubling trend has become deeply rooted in Pakistani society.

English fluency is increasingly mistaken for intelligence.

During interviews, candidates who speak polished English are often immediately perceived as more competent, confident, and capable.

A student educated entirely in an English-medium institution naturally communicates with greater ease than someone educated in an Urdu-medium or regional-language government school.

Yet language proficiency is not the same as intellectual ability.

The difference often reflects educational opportunity—not intelligence.

Perhaps the greatest danger of today’s interpretation of merit is psychological.

It convinces privileged individuals that they owe their success entirely to personal effort while persuading disadvantaged youth that their failures are entirely their own fault.

In reality, success is rarely determined by talent alone.

It is shaped by family background, educational opportunity, economic stability, social networks, language exposure, health, geography, and access to resources.

Many children who are denied quality education become vulnerable to crime, drug trafficking, extremist recruitment, or exploitation simply because society failed to invest in their future.

Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah envisioned Pakistan as a nation where every citizen would enjoy equal opportunities to progress. He repeatedly described education as the foundation of national development.

Today, however, education itself has become one of the strongest symbols of social inequality.

This does not mean merit should be abandoned.

Rather, merit should be redefined.

Admissions, scholarships, and employment decisions should certainly recognize academic performance, but they should also consider the applicant’s educational environment, family income, geographical location, school quality, language barriers, and the extraordinary challenges overcome to reach that point.

Many leading universities across the world increasingly adopt holistic admissions processes that evaluate not only examination scores but also the applicant’s personal circumstances, resilience, leadership, and social context.

Pakistan can learn from these examples.

Finally, there remains one uncomfortable question that deserves public attention.

If Pakistan allocates **Rs. 1.91 trillion** for education through federal and provincial budgets, how much of this enormous public investment actually reaches classrooms?

And how much quietly disappears into corruption, administrative inefficiency, political patronage, inflated procurement, ghost schools, absentee teachers, and mismanagement?
Until this question is answered honestly—and accountability replaces slogans—Pakistan’s repeated promises of merit will continue to sound less like justice and more like an illusion.
A nation cannot build genuine merit upon unequal foundations.
Real merit begins not in the examination hall, but in ensuring that every child, regardless of wealth or birthplace, starts the race from the same starting line.