“My heart breaks for my beloved country. I want to do something extra-ordinary for the betterment of my people, and I invite you to join me in a national cause by volunteering your time and expertise for this country,” says a high-level government official holding Rs. 1500 million budget for a national science project. “Sir, but this is a commercial entity. I have no problem working for free for an orphanage or an NGO but, since you will make millions (by selling your services to other governmental and commercial entities) once this project is complete, why cannot you spare a few thousand rupees for consultants who can tell how to setup this facility?” I replied. And, as expected, I received the same response that I’ve been getting at least once a week since I came back to Pakistan: “This is your country; it is your responsibility to serve her. It should be your top-most (and, in fact, the only) priority to work for her. If you want to make money go back from wherever you came from, we don’t need you. Pakistan doesn’t need you. This country was made in God’s name and He will guide us in these troubled times.”
I am still struggling to differentiate between patriotism and free labor. I believe that we all are patriots, as long as we are doing what we are supposed to do, or until we do something unpatriotic. I am loyal to my country, but I have family responsibilities as well. I cannot do research, or work for the betterment of the society, if I am not able to feed my family, or provide them with basic necessities of life.
Unfortunately, we have developed a tradition of slapping everyone who wants to bring the change in the status-quo with the charge of insufficient patriotism. Personally, I like to show my patriotism through my work and not by my words. I don’t like to come up with the creative ways to prove how much I love my country, as Parveen Shakir once said:
اے مادر گیتی تری حیرت بھی بجا ہے
تیرے ہی نہ کام آیا تو سر کس کے لئے تھا ؟
What’s more, working for free has a negative effect as well: It doesn’t matter how good you are or what you are capable of, if you are doing something for free, no one takes it seriously. At least this has been my experience so far.
So, if we are to pay researchers for their work on public projects, the question arises where should this money come from? To answer this question, consider this. If I were to make an analogy for Pakistani research community and industry/government agencies, I would equate them with the example of two cows: One is frail, sick and cannot even stand on her own feet, while the other is healthy, productive, and full of milk. The wise approach would be to milk the healthy cow, sell the milk, and take care of the sick cow from the money received from selling the milk. By feeding the weak cow from the cash received, we can expect that she will soon be healthy and productive. Research community in Pakistan, in general, is the weaker cow. It cannot and should not be expected to produce ready-to-use products. The stronger cow (government agencies and industry) has to feed her first with the start-up grants, consulting assignments, confidence, recognition, and respect. And then, we can expect some real output from the research community.
To build this relationship between industry, academia and government, we should focus mainly on the needs of young researchers. It will take far less effort, and resources to get young researchers on board, than what we are already spending on foreign consultants. I believe that they have the skills, up-to-date knowledge and expertise to get the job done. Besides, all the other necessary ingredients that we ask for upfront — patriotism, love for the country, etc. — are inherent properties of these young minds.
I admit that universities are also at fault for this broken relationship. We, the academics, have not been able to prove our capabilities or build the trust that is required in such contracts. We have to mutually grow this relationship, so as to create an environment that is conducive to research. To promote academic-industry-government partnership, HEC, Pakistan Science Foundation, ICT R&D Fund, Punjab IT Board and other organizations can play a role. They can bridge the gap by providing a platform that can take project/consulting requirements from the government/industry and assign it to young researchers, while facilitating and maintaining the research funds. This platform can also help build one-to-one relationship between a university researcher and a government official for future projects.
There are around 600 scholars, 400 or so who are currently studying on HEC scholarships and another 200 or so on Fulbright, who are expecting to return to Pakistan in 2010-2011. These scholars have been trained and educated on Pakistani tax payers’ money. We have to start trusting our own people and their expertise. And, I believe, they have the potential to exceed our expectations. By investing in them, not only will we be saving thousands of dollars that we spend on foreign consultants, but we will also build local capabilities. If we fail to build a system that makes use of the expertise of these returning scholars, I am afraid that most of the money spent on foreign scholarships will be wasted, either by scholars leaving the country for better opportunities or by not utilizing their full potential.
Not a single week passes that I don’t find someone shouting at me to go back to where I came from. But, I am not going to leave. I will stay here to make the naysayers obsolete. If we keep moving abroad out of frustration, we are, in fact, handing over our own motherland to these people. We will not, and we should not allow this to happen. The people who are opposing change are really old and they will retire in a few years. I have to stay here to wait for that vacant position and whenever there is an opportunity, I will opt for it to bring about the change my country deserves. And, in the meanwhile, I will create a generation of young minds to help me build a prosperous Pakistan. This is my country, I am here to stay, and I dare to stay!
