When Brutus joined the conspiracy against Julius Caesar, Shakespeare gave him the line: “Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.” History is full of extraordinary acts justified in the national interest, and Pakistan is no exception. Every crisis promises stability. But are we protecting the state and its institutions, or merely those in power?

On November 3, 2007, Pakistan came under emergency rule, and I was asked to take charge as SSP Islamabad. The Constitution was held in abeyance, judges were sent home and lawyers detained. Having earlier been unceremoniously removed from the post, I was reluctant to take it back. My hesitation invited a pointed question: “Are you disobeying government orders?” The irony was clear. Obeying could compromise my conscience; refusing could cost me my career.

“To be, or not to be?” For a civil servant, the question becomes: obey the government of the day, or uphold principles that must outlive it?

Some ask why I did not speak louder while in office. My response, half in jest, is: “Would you prefer I stayed silent even now?” Others ask why so little changed. I think of football: even Argentina lost matches with Maradona and Messi on the field. Many officers, far better than me, tried to make a difference. But even gifted players struggle when the system itself is broken.

We take ourselves too seriously. In countries with stronger institutions, officials leave knowing the system will carry on, sometimes better without them. In France, for instance, widespread unrest and controversial policing remain subject to judicial scrutiny, public debate and institutional accountability. The system does not depend on any one individual.

Where power becomes personal, institutions risk becoming extensions of individuals rather than guardians of the state. We imagine the country might stop when we retire. A tennis companion of mine, win or lose, happily leaves the court and enjoys life beyond it. Public office could learn from him: play your part, know when to leave and let the game go on.

Governments cannot stand idle when violence spreads or public order collapses. But extraordinary powers must be lawful, necessary, proportionate and open to scrutiny. The old saying, “That government is best which governs least,” does not mean abandoning citizens. It means governing effectively without unnecessary interference. Good government needs fair rules, not constant displays of authority.

Pakistan’s 1990s saw dismissed governments, shifting loyalties and civil servants caught between rival centers of power. Yesterday’s favorites became tomorrow’s outcasts. The pendulum swung, but institutions remained fragile. In 2026, deeper political divisions, sharper institutional tensions and shrinking space for compromise make the challenge more serious. The question is no longer merely who rules, but whether the rules will survive those who do.

The rules we allow to be broken against others today may be broken against us tomorrow.

Dr Syed Kaleem Imam

Extraordinary measures may contain a crisis, but they cannot replace good governance. When exceptions become routine, officials learn that compliance is safer than speaking their minds, businesses hesitate and public trust erodes. In counterterrorism, selective enforcement weakens public cooperation and the flow of intelligence. Force may suppress a threat; only fairness, legitimacy and the rule of law can help prevent its return.

What choices does a civil servant have? Obey, refuse, resign, or stay and limit the damage? None is easy. Resignation may make room for someone more accommodating; staying may demand uncomfortable compromises. But obedience is a duty, never a defense for illegality. Courage need not mean dramatic resignation. Sometimes it means recording an objection, refusing to cross a legal line or protecting one citizen from abuse.

Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s “Skin in the Game” reminds us that decision-makers should share the consequences of their decisions. A leader orders a crackdown; a constable faces the crowd. A minister announces restrictions; a shopkeeper loses income. An official demands austerity; a family struggles to make ends meet. Those prescribing bitter medicine should be willing to taste it.

Citizens, too, bear responsibility. Weary of disorder, they may welcome a strong hand and even applaud extrajudicial measures, until those measures are turned against them. The desire for order is legitimate; unchecked power is not. The rules we allow to be broken against others today may be broken against us tomorrow.

Pakistan’s younger generations are watching. Gen Z has little patience for sermons about sacrifice from those protected by privilege. Gen Alpha, growing up with artificial intelligence and easy access to information, may be harder still to convince with old promises and familiar rhetoric. One day, they may ask: “You knew what was wrong. You let it happen. Why should we pay the price?”

Power forgets; its consequences endure. Those who bend institutions to protect their positions may eventually suffer under the precedents they create. Public service is not measured by years in office or claims of being indispensable. It is measured by what remains after one leaves.

Lee Kuan Yew reportedly wished to be forgotten, a remarkable aspiration for a man who helped shape a nation. Great leaders build institutions that outlive them. Their success lies not in how deeply they are missed, but in how confidently the country carries on without them.

Governments change, leaders depart and power passes from hand to hand. Institutions must endure, the law must apply equally, and the state must belong to its people, not its temporary custodians. Power asks how long we can stay. Principle asks what will survive when we leave. That is the difference between occupying an office and building a legacy.

Dr. Syed Kaleem Imam is a former federal secretary, inspector general of police and UN police commissioner. He teaches law and philosophy at universities. X: @KaleemImam