By: Anwarzada Gulyar
It has been six years since the historic merger of the former Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. At the time, it was hailed as “the greatest political and constitutional revolution of the century.” Supporters saw it as a bold attempt to end decades of deprivation and to bring the tribal people into the national mainstream. Critics, however, argued that the decision was rushed, taken without adequately consulting those most affected—the tribal communities themselves. Now, six years later, one pressing question remains: what have the people of the tribal belt truly gained, and what have they lost?
Before the merger, FATA functioned as a semi-autonomous region where the draconian Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR) reigned supreme. Under its notorious “collective responsibility” clause, entire tribes often paid the price for the actions of individuals. Innocent men were fined, jailed, and punished without due process. Courts were out of reach, healthcare and education facilities were symbolic at best, and most development schemes existed only on paper. The merger was announced as the dawn of a new era—an end to darkness and a promise of equality.
The most significant achievement was the extension of Pakistan’s Constitution to the tribal districts. The FCR was abolished, the courts opened their doors, and citizens were guaranteed fundamental rights. Politically, the people of the tribal districts secured representation in the provincial assembly—an undeniable milestone that shattered the walls of isolation built over centuries.
But the other side of the picture is far less bright. At the time of the merger, the government pledged that three percent of the NFC Award would be allocated annually to the newly merged districts. That promise was never fulfilled. Budget cuts left schools, hospitals, and employment projects half-finished. In reality, while constitutional rights were granted, their practical benefits remain largely invisible in daily life.
The law-and-order challenge lingers as well. While the FCR is gone, access to justice is still weak. Courts are scarce, the police force lacks training, and the gap between traditional jirga practices and the formal judicial system leaves ordinary people confused and frustrated. Tribal citizens continue to ask: if the old system has ended, how effective and people-friendly is the new one?
The merger also opened doors. It gave tribal youth opportunities in education, politics, and employment; it encouraged women to raise their voices for the first time. Yet economic despair overshadows these gains. Joblessness is rampant. Degrees in hand, young men and women still wander in the wilderness of unemployment.
The deepest wound, however, lies in the loss of identity. Many argue that if FATA had been made a separate province or given the status of a regional council, its centuries-old autonomy and cultural identity could have been preserved alongside development. Instead, while the merger brought constitutional rights, it simultaneously erased a historical identity.
In short, the FATA merger remains an unfinished dream. The people lost the FCR and gained justice and representation, but they also lost timely development and their distinct identity. Even now, the merger could become a true symbol of success—if promised funds are delivered, institutions strengthened, and public grievances prioritized. Otherwise, the shadows of despair and distrust will only deepen.
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