IN 2004, an American science-fiction thriller titled The Butterfly Effect was released. The film followed an individual who could return to moments in his past to alter his present. Ironically, each time he went back hoping to improve the outcome, his intervention triggered consequences that made everything worse. A single adjustment set off a ripple effect — a chain reaction — where even well-intentioned changes led to monumental and adverse results for the future.
Today, Pakistan seems to be producing a “butterfly effect” of its own. Somewhere, someplace, someone keeps revisiting the past, revising and re-revising the Pakistani Constitution under the belief that these changes will make things better — only to make them exponentially worse. And unlike the character in the film, this someone refuses to learn the lesson: that sometimes improving the future for everyone means stepping back, not interfering — whether in the past, present, or future.
On an entirely unrelated note, the 27th Amendment has arrived. Many thought it would be difficult for the government to outdo itself after the 26th Amendment, but once again, it proved everyone wrong.
The 26th Amendment focused on leashing an allegedly unruly judiciary, viewed as an insurmountable obstacle to progress and prosperity. Special benches were created within the Supreme Court to handle “important” cases, sidelining the rest of the judges. Judicial appointments and bench formations were placed firmly under government and legislative control, and the bench was populated with judges perceived as pliant or, at the very least, unlikely to challenge the establishment’s agenda.
Despite this extensive restructuring, the government pressed forward with a new amendment — one that sought to do what even the 26th Amendment seemed too embarrassed to attempt. It was the 26th Amendment on steroids, that is, it created an entirely separate constitutional court, with selections and appointments thereto firmly within the reach and control of the political parties and establishment, whilst unabashedly reserving the right to pick the first set of judges appointed to such court.
At first glance, this must have sounded like an excellent idea to those in power. But in reality, it has inflicted far more harm on the very project they hoped to secure and legitimise. In trying to strengthen their creation, they have unknowingly weakened it.
No number of amendments can grant legitimacy to a system suffering from deep doubts.
First, as members of the Supreme Court — regardless of how they were chosen — the judges still carried a degree of legitimacy earned from their pre-26th Amendment reputations. Call it a ‘legacy’ reputation. One may argue that the legacy wasn’t extraordinary, but it was certainly more substantive than what the Federal Constitutional Court is seen to currently enjoy. In part, this is because the government has left no stone unturned to encourage and spread the impression that the adjudicators, whether correct or not, are their frontrunners in a race to the finish line. In doing so, much harm has been seen to have been done to the legitimacy and acceptability of the court, as well as those who occupy it.
Secondly, by directly handpicking judges, the federal government has unfortunately reinforced the rumours and whispers that already make judicial appointments controversial in Pakistan, leaving not even a semblance of impartiality. The 26th Amendment at least offered the smokescreen of a judicial commission — allowing its defenders to claim an “inclusive” appointment mechanism, even if that mechanism was heavily influenced by the executive and legislature. The 27th Amendment allows not even this veneer. It forces its defenders to concede that the first appointments to the new court are, in essence, executive selections.
Thirdly, when a crisis of legitimacy rises to the level we are witnessing nowadays, everything begins to feel unruly, ungovernable, lawless, and hopeless. This impression of neutered oversight becomes even sharper when the very circles that matter are actively perceived to promote it.
Perhaps this is why stories of children lost to manholes, women crushed under the high-handedness of those allegedly born of justice, or motorcyclists run over by dumpers, evoke such intense emotion and frustration. They symbolise a country that seems to care less and less about its people — one driven by everything except the will of the people. And unlike before, the public sees this with painful clarity.
This painful clarity is resulting in a real sense of alienation and disappointment among the people of Pakistan. Democracy may not have been perfect, but it did, along with an independent judiciary, provide different people potent avenues to vent their frustrations, resentment, and even ire. It served as a lightning rod which absorbed the various shocks one can expect in a diverse polity such as Pakistan. However, when you take away that lightning rod, you leave yourself, your country, and your system exposed.
Hence, the government may introduce as many amendments as it wishes, whether it be the 28th, 29th, or even the 50th. But no number of amendments can grant legitimacy to a system already suffering from deep doubts born of its disconnect from the people.
If 78 or so years of Pakistan’s turbulent history proves anything, it is that true legitimacy and stability stem from genuine franchise, free elections, and amendments crafted by a government and legislature that represent the people — their mandate, aspirations, and wishes, rather than their fears, anxieties, and resentments.
Therefore, Pakistan needs to stop trying to alter and re-alter its past to better its future. Change comes through processes, and with the loyalty and respect of its people. The same people who are here to stay, have the most to lose, and yet have the least say in how this country is to be run. And yet they love this country. What is loyalty if not this?
The writer is a lawyer based in Karachi.
X: @basilnabi
Published in Dawn, December 13th, 2025
