Pakistan’s budget: promise on paper, patience on the ground

Every year, the federal budget arrives with a familiar mixture of anticipation and anxiety. The numbers grow, the targets shift, and the language of progress fills the air. The 2025–26 budget is no exception. With a massive outlay of over PKR 18 trillion, the government has signaled its intent to stabilise the economy, stimulate growth, and offer some relief to citizens.

But while macroeconomic ambitions matter, most Pakistanis don’t live in policy documents or PowerPoint presentations. They live in rental homes and one-room shops. They deal in daily wages and school fees. And for them, budgets are not judged by fiscal discipline or IMF targets—they’re judged by the price of flour, the electricity bill, the affordability of a medical test, or whether their child can stay in school.

This year’s budget contains some clear positives, and it’s only fair to acknowledge them.

Salaries for government employees and pensions for retirees have been increased — by 15percent and 17.5 percent, respectively. The government has committed over PKR 400 billion to public sector development programs, with a strong focus on agriculture, road networks, and rural infrastructure. There’s also renewed attention on the digital economy, including tax incentives and upskilling programs aimed at IT professionals and freelancers. The Benazir Income Support Programme (BISP) saw an allocation increase, a necessary move given the stubborn levels of food inflation and unemployment.

These are thoughtful, measured steps — and they show a willingness to address structural challenges rather than only offering symbolic gestures.

But for the ordinary citizen, the story isn’t just about allocations. It’s about impact. And there, the ground reality is less encouraging.

Inflation may have dipped slightly on paper, but essential goods — wheat, ghee, fuel, milk — remain painfully expensive. Public transport is still inadequate and unsafe. The cost of private schooling has become unsustainable for even middle-income families. Electricity bills fluctuate unpredictably. Healthcare remains out of reach for large swathes of the population unless there’s a hospital in their WhatsApp contacts or family network.

This is the silent crisis of the middle and lower-middle class. They are not recipients of aid, nor are they elites who benefit from tax breaks and regulatory maneuvering. They are the ones holding things together — small shopkeepers, private school teachers, garment workers, gig economy drivers. They rarely protest, but they quietly adjust — cutting one meal, skipping a medicine, delaying a utility bill.

The informal economy, which accounts for more than 60percent of Pakistan’s workforce, remains largely unaddressed. While there are loans and credit lines on offer for small and medium enterprises (SMEs), access is still skewed towards the connected and the documented. Informal workers continue to hustle without security, recognition, or recourse.

What makes this more frustrating is that better models exist. In Malaysia, for instance, the government has integrated digital ID systems with direct cash transfers and subsidy programs. In Bangladesh, microfinance has empowered rural communities to create self-sustaining enterprises. These are not utopias, but they demonstrate that it is possible to align national policy with household needs.

So where does Pakistan go from here?

First, the government must shift from announcement to execution. That means transparent implementation, citizen feedback loops, and ruthless efficiency in cutting bureaucratic fat. Second, it must prioritize inclusion—not just of provinces and sectors, but of the millions who remain undocumented, unbanked, and unheard. Third, we need better data to track the social impact of budgets. Numbers about deficit reduction or GDP growth are important—but so is knowing whether children are dropping out of school because of transport costs.

Pakistan doesn’t need a perfect budget. It needs one that works where it matters, at the ground level.

The 2025–26 budget is not a disaster. It’s not a game-changer either. It’s a plan that could lead somewhere meaningful — but only if there’s the will to see it through. Until then, Pakistanis will continue to wait. Not for policy miracles, but for small signs of dignity, stability, and hope.

Because for them, budgets are not about billions — they’re about breathing room.