THE past couple of weeks have been packed with news and not just of the international kind. There were elections in Azad Kashmir, verbal duelling between the PPP and PML-N and an intense debate on a system that has collapsed. And in the midst of this came the matter of superior sounding administrative units versus local governments.
What more could a journalist want? Yet more bad news it seems. For there was a relatively unimportant news item in the oft-ignored city pages of this paper, which announced a new underpass at the injunction of Margalla Road and Eighth Avenue. It seems as if someone, somewhere in the hallways of CDA has decided the short wait at the crossing is a wait too long. And Dubai-like, the rich residents of Islamabad should also not have to wait at all, for modernity means zooming around wide roads.
So a new underpass the city shall have — at a junction where the avenue is called Faisal Avenue, for it leads up to the mosque, in the green lap of the Margallas.
It is hard to keep count of the underpasses and flyovers CDA has inflicted upon this small city, especially in recent times. The new boss of the city, Mohsin Naqvi, is surely inspired by his boss, Shehbaz Sharif. As chief minister of Punjab, Naqvi was praised for his ‘Mohsin speed’, a term which paid homage to him and Shehbaz Sharif who too had been awarded a similar epithet. Both were praised for the speed at which they built projects.
It’s hard to keep count of the underpasses and flyovers CDA has inflicted on Islamabad.
In a country where visible brick-and-mortar projects pass for development, speed is seen as a virtue, rather than decision-making which is sustainable and helps improve people’s lot. And while Shehbaz junior now does illustrate the difference between building bridges and running a country, Naqvi has brought the speedy flair to Islamabad, where CDA has built flyovers in every nook and cranny of the city that can fit one. After all, if Shehbaz Sharif could take away university land to build roads, why can’t others build on existing roads?
In so doing, the current government has contributed to turning a small green city into a grey shadow of Lahore. It is more unfortunate for the capital, for Islamabad has little of the old charm or history that Lahore can lay claim to. The greenery and hills are all the capital can offer but between its rapid expansion, numerous housing societies, and our planners’ obsession with Dubai-style traffic, Islamabad is losing its uniqueness.
Over time, the construction is also becoming as durable as the governments in Islamabad. Each time, it rains, a newly built road reveals the poor standards of construction, so much so that media organisations are stopped from covering the quick wear and tear. This was seen when the roads in front of a known hotel needed quick repairs after rain, and when a fancy sculpture at a new roundabout couldn’t withstand a monsoon spell.
But it was perhaps just a coincidence for had the construction standards been really poor, more attention would have been paid to another news story that got very little attention. Recently, a story appeared in a paper about audit objections to the new underpass built near the F-9 park in Islamabad. It reported that the audit highlighted faults in the design of the underpass. However, the little attention that was paid to the story shows it really wasn’t all that significant or newsworthy.
My objections however are different. Dangerous turns in underpasses, which require cars to suddenly slow down, are hardly important in a city built for speed — half of Islamabad is now built to allow vehicles to zip around. However, why do those running this city want ugly bridges and underpasses near the F-9 park?
For those who are unfamiliar with Islamabad, the F-9 park comprises an entire sector in the heart of the city and perhaps is comparable to Central Park in Manhattan, New York. Anywhere else in the world, such a large green space would be protected and so would the real estate around it. But not in Islamabad. Years ago, a part of it was given to an international franchise; despite a court order, the city found a way to let the corner be, and even give it legal cover.
Now, two sides of the park boast flyovers that obstruct the view of the greenery. Imagine if someone suggested constructing bridges on Fifth Avenue next to Central Park. In Pakistan, we have no such concerns. Cars have a need to speed through signal-free corridors — and if it means ruining the roads and the serene views next to the city’s green spaces, so be it.
And now Faisal Avenue is next. It is a wide road so named because it leads down to the Faisal Mosque, synonymous with Islamabad in some ways. The decision, it seems, has been made — and with little input from either the city’s residents or others. If some feel the idea is not a good one, there is little that can be done about it. And neither can the courts provide a recourse — for obvious reasons.
It may seem like a frivolous issue to write about at a time when so much is happening in the country and the region, but there is a point to be made here. The local government or smaller provincial debate is not an abstract one about what theory says. And neither will it yield the results its proponents are boasting about if the representatives are not accountable to the people. And accountability, first and foremost, comes from genuine representation. If the residents of Islamabad had that, instead of bureaucrats and MNAs with controversial electoral wins, perhaps some of this construction could have been questioned.
The writer is a journalist.
Published in Dawn, August 11th, 2026
