The myth of an agricultural country

FOR as long as many of us can remember, we were raised on a comforting national belief: that Pakistan is an agricultural country, blessed with rivers, fertile plains, and hardworking farmers who would always keep this nation fed. It was repeated so often, with such pride, that it became part of our identity. But myths, no matter how deeply rooted, eventually collide with reality. And today, as we look across our fields, our markets, and our import bills, we must face a difficult truth. Pakistan may still depend on agriculture, but agriculture can no longer depend on Pakistan. This decline did not arrive suddenly. In the early decades, especially during the Green Revolution of the 1960s, we saw what real progress looked like. New seeds, expanding irrigation, mechanization, rising wheat yields for a moment, it felt as if we were on the verge of becoming a regional powerhouse. But that momentum faded. Innovation slowed, productivity stagnated, and policy became a revolving door of short-term fixes and political theatrics that rarely survived beyond a single government’s tenure. The past few years have been especially damaging. Instead of reforming markets, we suffocated them. Instead of empowering farmers, we trapped them in bureaucratic webs. The seed sector was choked by excessive regulation, discouraging private investment and delaying the arrival of climate-resilient varieties. Fertilizer markets were distorted by sudden price caps, erratic subsidies, and chronic shortages that pushed farmers toward blackmarket rates. Wheat procurement became a political battleground, with inconsistent support prices, delayed imports, and provincialfederal tugofwar turning a staple crop into a national crisis. We created monopolies where competition should have thrived. Sugar mills dictated terms to farmers. Middlemen captured the lion’s share of profits in fruit and vegetable markets. Government interventions, meant to stabilize prices, often ended up creating artificial shortages