ISLAMABAD (Digital Post) Honourable Chairman CDA: When a File Becomes a Test of Trust

ISLAMABAD (Digital Post) A few days ago, I found myself standing outside a government office in Islamabad when an unsettling thought crossed my mind.

In this city, buildings change. Chairmen come and go. Governments rise and fall. Yet somehow, the fate of files rarely seems to change.

The thought occurred to me after weeks of pursuing a matter related to my family’s case when a CDA patwari, Mudassar, finally informed me that the actual issue fell within the jurisdiction of the tehsildar.

I smiled.

Not because the problem had been resolved, but because I was reminded of an old story — one I had spent nearly two decades reporting on as a journalist covering Islamabad’s bureaucracy.

The only difference this time was that I was no longer the observer.

I had become part of the story.

Having covered the Capital Development Authority for years, I have witnessed the tenures of chairmen from Kamran Lashari to the incumbent Lt-Gen (Retd) Sohail Ashraf. Every administration arrived with its own vision for Islamabad. Some focused on infrastructure. Others prioritised new sectors, anti-encroachment drives, urban planning, or digital governance.

Yet one character survived every era.

The file.

Perhaps the most powerful institution within our bureaucratic culture.

Silent, motionless and lifeless on the surface, yet capable of determining the pace of a citizen’s hopes, plans and future.

My family’s case concerns files related to plots whose numbers were allotted during the 2023 balloting process. The next stage should have been straightforward: the issuance of allotment letters.

At least in theory.

In Pakistan, however, seemingly simple administrative matters often develop a remarkable talent for becoming unnecessarily complicated.

Weeks turned into months.

Visits to offices became routine.

Meetings with officials continued.

Every interaction carried the expectation that clarity might finally emerge. Sometimes records were being reviewed. Sometimes files were being traced. Sometimes another wait was advised.

Then came the revelation that the matter essentially belonged before the tehsildar.

At that moment, I thought less about the file and more about the three months it had taken merely to reach that piece of information.

Perhaps nowhere is a citizen’s time valued less than within the corridors of public administration.

A day lost by a citizen never appears in official statistics. Weeks spent moving between offices are rarely recorded in any performance report. Yet for those living through the experience, every passing day carries uncertainty, frustration and fading confidence.

This is not an argument against any individual official.

Patwari Mudassar may well be a diligent public servant carrying a workload few outsiders can fully appreciate.

He may be dealing with hundreds of files and dozens of visitors every day.

But a question nevertheless remains.

If it takes three months to tell a citizen where he should go, what does that reveal about the system itself?

Over the years, I have reached a simple conclusion: most Pakistanis do not lose their battles because of the law.

They lose because of a lack of information.

Citizens often have no idea which office is responsible for their case, which official is handling it, or what stage their application has reached.

As a result, routine administrative matters become prolonged journeys through a maze of uncertainty.

To be fair, the current CDA Chairman, Lt-Gen (Retd) Sohail Ashraf, deserves recognition.

In recent months, Islamabad has witnessed a level of administrative activity and visible governance that many residents acknowledge. There is a growing perception that the present leadership is more interested in outcomes than paperwork. Development initiatives, operational improvements and administrative decisions suggest a leadership attempting to move the institution forward.

Yet this also exposes one of Pakistan’s most persistent governance dilemmas.

Competent leaders often find themselves operating within systems that continue to function at the speed of an earlier age.

Reforms are announced at the top.

Old habits survive at the bottom.

Digitalisation is discussed in boardrooms.

Citizens continue searching for files.

Transparency becomes a policy objective.

Applicants continue searching for answers.

That is why this column is not really about my file.

Nor is it about a single office or a single official.

It is about a mindset that still requires change.

If citizens receive accurate guidance on their first visit, countless hours can be saved.

If file movements become fully traceable, unnecessary visits can be eliminated.

If applicants know exactly where their cases stand, much of the frustration surrounding public institutions will disappear.

My file will eventually be resolved.

Someone else’s file will replace it.

But the real issue is not the file itself.

The real issue is trust.

Trust between citizen and state.

Because in the end, a file is never just a collection of papers.

It represents a lifetime of savings.

A family’s investment.

A parent’s hopes.

A child’s future.

And sometimes, it becomes a test of patience for a journalist who spent years reporting on the system, only to discover that experiencing it firsthand tells an entirely different story.

Honourable Chairman,

If there is one reform that can leave a lasting legacy beyond roads, flyovers and development projects, it is ensuring that no citizen spends months merely trying to discover which door to knock on.

Strong institutions are not measured only by the projects they complete.

They are measured by how they treat ordinary people seeking ordinary rights.

And perhaps that is where genuine governance begins — not with a mega project, but with a single file and the trust attached to it.