A curious image has recently surfaced on the official website of the Presidency of Pakistan. For decades, behind every sitting President, the portrait of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the Quaid-e-Azam and Father of the Nation, has occupied pride of place. It was never a matter of decoration; it was the state’s symbolic reminder of where the roots of legitimacy and unity truly lie.
But now, Jinnah’s portrait is conspicuously absent. In its place hangs a large portrait of the late Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto.
Let there be no confusion: Benazir Bhutto’s political struggle and ultimate sacrifice are undeniable chapters of our history. Twice elected as Prime Minister, she fought for democratic space and ultimately laid down her life in that struggle. Yet the question is not about her worth or sacrifice. The real question is whether the Presidency, the apex symbol of the state, can replace the founding father with the emblem of a single party or political family.
The office of the President is meant to represent the state as a whole, not a party and not a dynasty. That is why the Quaid’s portrait has always stood behind the President’s chair, to remind us that the authority of that office flows not from temporary power arrangements but from the permanent legacy of Pakistan’s creation.
Benazir’s contributions deserve remembrance through museums, galleries, memorials and archives. But placing her portrait at the heart of Aiwan-e-Sadr, where Jinnah’s once hung, is not remembrance; it is replacement. And replacement carries dangerous symbolism. It signals that our collective memory is negotiable and that the Father of the Nation’s place in the nation’s highest house can be substituted by the preferences of the present occupant.
One may recall that during her premierships, the lofty slogan of “Roti, Kapra aur Makaan” seldom translated into sustainable relief. The poverty, unemployment and economic stagnation of those decades are well documented. The much-cited Benazir Income Support Programme, though offering immediate cash transfers, cannot be mistaken for a genuine pathway to national development. States do not rise through stipends; they rise through policy, vision and self-reliance.
So the question remains: on what grounds has the central symbol of the Republic been altered? Is the Presidency signalling that the Father of the Nation has become a relic for museums while the true identity of the state now lies in partisan legacy? If so, this is a precedent that risks hollowing out the very idea of Pakistan as a state rooted in Jinnah’s vision rather than political inheritance.
Let us be clear. The Quaid’s portrait is not a matter of nostalgia; it is a matter of statehood. His image, in the highest office of the land, anchors us to our origins and reminds us of our unfinished mission. To remove it is to weaken that anchor and to invite the dangerous question:
Has the Quaid gone on leave?
