The Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), one of the oldest and most recognized political parties in the country, has always managed to stay in the spotlight. Whether it’s delivering speeches in parliament, leading protests, or being active in media, PPP leaders are everywhere. They speak passionately about democracy, justice, human rights, and constitutional values. But there is a painful contradiction: while they raise their voices across Pakistan, they go almost silent when it comes to fixing the deep-rooted problems in their own backyard – Sindh.
For more than fifteen years, PPP has governed Sindh. The party keeps winning elections, especially in rural areas, where people have historically shown unwavering loyalty. The memory of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Benazir Bhutto still touches the hearts of many in Sindh. To them, PPP is more than a party; it is an identity. Yet when you walk through the broken streets of Larkana or visit a village in Tharparkar, you don’t see signs of progress. What you see instead is despair: cracked roads, sick children, abandoned schools, and people waiting in vain for jobs and clean water. One naturally wonders, where is the party they voted for again and again?
It’s not that Sindh lacks resources. What it lacks is care. In Larkana, the Bhuttos’ hometown, one might expect shining schools and functional hospitals. But the reality is heartbreaking. Tharparkar, a region that grabs headlines every year for child deaths due to hunger and contaminated water, continues to suffer. No amount of statements or promises seems to end this cycle (Dawn, 2023).
Education, the most basic pillar for a better future, is broken. Thousands of schools listed in government records either don’t exist or are permanently shut. Many teachers still receive salaries without showing up (Alif Ailaan, 2018). Children, especially girls, sit under open skies with outdated books and little hope. In many areas, educating daughters is discouraged. How can a party that once symbolized progress allow such darkness to grow?
Healthcare is in no better shape. Unless you’re in Karachi, you can expect hospitals in Sindh to be severely understaffed and under-resourced. In towns like Shikarpur and Jacobabad, people wait for hours just to see a doctor. Most medicines are unavailable, and staff often don’t bother showing up (HRCP, 2022). For the poor, this is more than inconvenience; it’s a matter of life and death. When floods come or diseases spread, the system collapses. The response from the provincial government is often the same: press conferences, high-level meetings, and then silence.
What makes all this worse is that these are not new problems. Everyone knows about them. Media outlets report regularly. Civil society organizations raise their voices. The opposition criticizes. But PPP often plays the blame game. It’s either the federal government, a lack of funds, or red tape. These may be part of the problem, but they don’t explain years of failure to deliver the basics (Express Tribune, 2023).
One major reason for PPP’s inaction is its political comfort zone. In many rural areas of Sindh, elections are a formality. The same powerful families continue to rule. Loyalty is passed down through generations. People vote out of tradition or fear. In some places, landlords – many of whom are PPP members – hold so much control that locals have no real choice. In such a setup, why would anyone feel the need to improve? (PILDAT, 2020)
Corruption makes things worse. Every year, billions are allocated for development, yet on the ground, nothing changes. Roads appear in official records but not in real life. Clean water projects start and stop. Filtration plants lie useless. Jobs are promised but never given to the deserving. Instead, they go to those with connections. The common citizen keeps waiting while the privileged few enjoy the benefits (Auditor General of Pakistan Reports, 2022).
There’s also an imbalance in how PPP treats Karachi compared to the rest of Sindh. Karachi, being a complex city with a mixed political landscape, often receives limited attention. Interior Sindh, where PPP holds absolute power, remains ignored despite its loyalty. This growing gap has created deep resentment. The feeling that people are being used for votes but forgotten afterward is spreading fast (World Bank, 2022).
Even in Karachi, PPP’s local governance raises questions. Every monsoon, streets flood due to broken drainage systems. Basic utilities like water and electricity remain unreliable. The city generates the most tax revenue in Pakistan, but what does it get in return? Very little (UNDP, 2021).
Nationally, PPP still likes to present itself as a champion of democracy. Its leaders speak of civilian supremacy and freedom. They demand rights for women, minorities, and missing persons. These causes matter, and PPP deserves credit for standing up on them. But it’s also true that such speeches feel hollow when the same party cannot fix a broken school in Ghotki or provide clean water in Tando Allahyar. The test of leadership lies in action, not words. And PPP, in the case of Sindh, has failed that test.
This failure is not abstract. It’s personal. It’s about the hungry child in Thar who doesn’t make it to their fifth birthday. The mother who walks for miles only to find a hospital with no doctor. The student who never finishes school because there was no teacher. The unemployed youth who watches the influential get all the opportunities. These are real people. Real lives. And they’ve been abandoned by a party that once promised to fight for them.
The heartbreak is deeper because the relationship between PPP and Sindh is not just political; it is emotional. People cried for Zulfikar. They buried Benazir. They wore PPP badges with pride. But what have they received in return? Not much. This blind loyalty is beginning to fade. Democracy is not just about casting a vote; it’s about demanding results.
Still, all is not lost. Sindh is changing. Young people are more aware. They ask questions. They speak online. They want results, not slogans. Civil society is louder now. People want roads, not rallies; hospitals, not headlines. If PPP does not wake up and listen, it may soon find itself irrelevant even in Sindh.
There is still time to change. The party can choose to return to its roots, clean up corruption, and actually serve the people. It can prioritize development, education, health, and jobs. It can remove feudal control and encourage transparency. Not because it wants to win elections, but because the people of Sindh have earned it.
These people have voted for PPP. They have trusted it. They have waited. The question now is: will PPP finally deliver, or will it let that trust turn into disappointment? The choice lies with the party. But the clock is ticking.
