The Federal Public Service Commission, a 77-year-old institution once celebrated as Pakistan’s bastion of meritocracy, has fallen silent. Since November 2024, its monthly ritual of job advertisements— a lifeline for thousands of civil service aspirants— has abruptly ceased. This unexplained hiatus has not only disrupted the dreams of a generation but also exposed systemic vulnerabilities in a nation where 64 percent of the population is under 30, and youth unemployment hovers at 11.6 percent. The FPSC’s dormancy is more than an administrative lapse; it is a crisis of trust, opportunity, and governance that demands urgent reckoning.
For decades, the FPSC has been a symbol of hope, offering a rare level playing field in a country where socioeconomic disparities often dictate destiny. Rooted in Article 242 of Pakistan’s Constitution, its mandate to recruit civil servants through competitive exams has produced leaders who shaped policy, managed crises, and steered national development. From the Pakistan Administrative Service to the Foreign Service of Pakistan, FPSC selections have been synonymous with prestige and public service. Yet, today, this institution stands accused of betraying its founding principles, leaving aspirants like 26-year-old Ayesha Khan from Karachi in limbo. “I’ve sacrificed job offers, relationships, and financial stability for this dream,” she says. “The silence from the FPSC feels like a betrayal.”
Theories about the hiatus abound, but clarity remains elusive. Some speculate the commission is overhauling recruitment policies, perhaps revisiting provincial quotas or integrating technology to curb cheating— a persistent issue that sparked protests in 2023 after a leaked CSS exam paper. Others point to Pakistan’s dire economic straits: with a $350 billion debt burden and austerity measures imposed by the IMF, the government may have frozen public sector hiring. Yet, no official statement confirms this. Meanwhile, whispers of political interference or legal battles over exam irregularities— reminiscent of the 2021 judicial probe into paper leaks— add fuel to the rumor mill. The absence of transparency has bred cynicism. “Is this a tactic to manipulate future recruitments?” asks Lahore-based educator Hassan Raza. “Every day without answers deepens distrust.”
The human cost of this uncertainty is staggering. Millions of aspirants, many from middle- and low-income families, invest years and scarce resources in preparation. Coaching centers in Rawalpindi’s Committee Chowk and Karachi’s Nazimabad, once bustling with hopefuls, now report empty seats. Families like Sana Mir’s in Quetta, who sold ancestral land to fund her studies, face financial ruin. Mental health professionals warn of a silent epidemic: cases of anxiety and depression among candidates have surged, compounded by Pakistan’s already strained mental health infrastructure. Kamran Malik, a 28-year-old from Multan, captures the despair: “My peers are now risking illegal migration to Europe. When your own country doesn’t value your potential, why stay?”
Economically, the repercussions are equally dire. Pakistan needs to create 1.5 million jobs annually to absorb its youth bulge. The FPSC’s freeze not only denies the state a pipeline of skilled bureaucrats but also stalls critical projects. From climate resilience initiatives to CPEC’s next phase, delayed recruitment threatens institutional capacity. Economists warn of a domino effect: unemployed youth reduce consumer spending, depress local economies, and fuel the informal sector, where exploitation thrives. In provinces like Balochistan and Sindh, where public sector jobs are a stabilizing force, the hiatus risks exacerbating ethnic tensions.
The FPSC’s revival is not merely an administrative task but a moral imperative. It is time to reclaim the promise of meritocracy, to honor the sacrifices of aspirants, and to rebuild an institution that once symbolized hope. Pakistan’s youth are not a liability but an asset— a demographic dividend waiting to be harnessed. The cost of inaction is not just lost potential but a fractured future.
Globally, contrasts with peers like India’s UPSC and the UK’s Civil Service highlight Pakistan’s missteps. India’s UPSC maintains rigour and regularity, even during crises, by digitizing exams and providing real-time applicant dashboards. The UK streamlined hiring during the pandemic using AI-driven platforms. Bangladesh, recognizing youth unemployment as a national security threat, accelerated public sector recruitment post-COVID. Pakistan, meanwhile, appears paralyzed by inertia.
The path forward demands bold, systemic reforms. First, transparency: the FPSC must immediately issue a detailed public explanation and timeline for resuming exams. A live portal for updates, modeled on India’s UPSC dashboard, could restore confidence. Second, modernization: digitizing applications, adopting remote proctoring, and partnering with platforms like Coursera to offer free preparatory courses would democratize access. Third, mental health support: collaborations with NGOs like Taskeen Health could provide subsidized therapy, while FPSC-hosted wellness webinars might mitigate despair.
Policy overhauls are equally critical. Decentralizing recruitment to provincial commissions could ease the FPSC’s burden and address regional disparities. Legislation mandating annual hiring targets, insulated from political shifts, would ensure continuity. Economically, a “Youth Employment Fund” offering stipends during delays, coupled with public-private partnerships to absorb talent into infrastructure projects, could bridge gaps.
At its core, this crisis is a test of Pakistan’s commitment to its youth. The FPSC’s silence echoes a broader societal neglect—one that risks pushing a generation toward disillusionment or exile. Philosopher Allama Iqbal once implored the youth to “rise above the stars,” but today, they are shackled by bureaucratic inertia. The government must recognize that every delayed advertisement, every unanswered query, erodes the social contract.
The FPSC’s revival is not merely an administrative task but a moral imperative. It is time to reclaim the promise of meritocracy, to honor the sacrifices of aspirants, and to rebuild an institution that once symbolized hope. Pakistan’s youth are not a liability but an asset— a demographic dividend waiting to be harnessed. The cost of inaction is not just lost potential but a fractured future.
In the words of a weary aspirant from Peshawar, Ali Ahmed: “I left a teaching job to prepare for these exams. Now, I’m unemployed, and my family’s hopes rest on a system that won’t even speak to us.” His plea is a microcosm of a national tragedy. The state’s response will determine whether Pakistan’s youth become architects of progress or casualties of indifference. The clock is ticking.
