In the sprawling heartland of Pakistan, there lies a silent emergency — one not carved by sudden disaster, but by slow neglect. It is a crisis painted not in broken buildings or crumbling roads, but in the absence of children in classrooms.
In Punjab, as of the 2023 census, a staggering 9.6 million children between the ages of 5 and 16 remain out of school. That’s more than one in every four school-age children in the province — children with names and dreams, whose futures remain tethered to the soil of uncertainty.
Of these, 6.44 million have never stepped inside a classroom — not even once. It is a sobering figure, especially when you imagine it not as a number, but as a sea of young faces watching the world from the margins, learning nothing of letters or numbers but plenty about labour, hardship, and compromise.
Much of the blame, of course, begins with the weight of poverty. In countless households across Punjab, especially in the dust-laced rural belt where nearly 70 million people reside, education is a luxury too far from reach. Economic survival often demands the nimble fingers of children — working in fields, helping with livestock, or assisting in small family trades. For families living hand-to-mouth, a school uniform or a pair of shoes might cost more than a month’s comfort. And beyond the cost, there’s skepticism: what good is school, they wonder, if the educated remain unemployed or if the path to literacy offers no immediate return?
Then there is the burden borne by girls, heavy and deep-rooted. In many villages, tradition still decides the course of a daughter’s life. Safety concerns, early marriages, and cultural expectations hold them back. A girl’s place, many believe, is not in a classroom but within the confines of home, preparing for domestic roles long before her childhood ends.
Even when children do go to school, many find themselves in skeletal institutions — buildings without electricity, books, or bathrooms. Teachers, where present, are overwhelmed. The province suffers a shortfall of nearly 100,000 educators. It is not uncommon for a single teacher to manage multi-grade classrooms, trying to nurture minds while fending off chaos. Without guidance or support, many students simply slip away — quietly, without protest — joining the invisible tide of dropouts.
And then, there are forces even less visible: a cultural devaluation of formal schooling in favour of religious or vocational training. Some families, especially in remote districts, place greater trust in madrasas or practical apprenticeships. Others simply distrust the system. Compounding it all are the whims of climate: smog-choked skies and searing heatwaves have, in recent years, forced repeated school closures. In November 2024, entire districts shut down classrooms due to hazardous air quality — another blow to already fragile routines.
But amidst the bleak statistics and complex challenges, there is a quiet resistance unfolding.
It began in 2023 with a modest experiment — an attempt not to overhaul the system in one sweep, but to patch its deepest holes. The Foundational Literacy and Numeracy (FLN) programme emerged with the simplest of goals: to teach children how to read, write, and calculate. To bring back the basics. Led by Project Director Imtiaz Shahid, the initiative was launched in five districts where thousands of learning camps took root inside schools. These were not typical classes but intensive, child-centered efforts, targeted at both those who had dropped out and those who were enrolled yet failing to learn.
In just one year, over 81,000 children attended these camps — nearly 23,000 of them returning to school after years away. Encouragingly, almost half were girls. The momentum grew. In its second phase, the programme expanded to twelve more districts, stretching across Punjab’s most neglected corners. By the end, over 176,000 children had passed through its gates — 35,000 of them previously out of school.
Today, in its third chapter, the programme is pushing deeper into the province’s heart — places like Mianwali, Rajanpur, and Bahawalnagar, where dropout rates run high and hope runs thin. Each child is assessed twice — once at the beginning, again at the end. The results have been promising. Test scores have improved. Smiles have returned.
But the FLN programme is more than data points. It’s built on the conviction that learning must be joyful, that a child’s first taste of education should not be a cold recitation but a warm invitation. Teachers are specially trained; sports and play are encouraged; colorful worksheets and calendars are provided by the Programme Monitoring and Implementation Unit. Even technology has a place — each teacher logs daily progress through a mobile app, feeding into a centralised dashboard watched over by the School Education Department and UNICEF.
Much of its success, Shahid explains, comes from working within the community itself. Volunteers go door to door, holding corner meetings with skeptical parents. Banners and flyers flutter in village streets. Conversations are had — often hard, sometimes heartbreaking, but necessary. The idea is to shift not just enrollment numbers but the very perception of education in the minds of families.
It is, Shahid says, nothing less than a social movement. One that insists no child in Punjab should be forgotten.
Still, the path ahead is long and rutted. The FLN programme, despite its early gains, is but one flame against a long night. It will take greater investments, better infrastructure, and sustained political will to turn the tide. But even a flicker can dispel darkness. And in a province where millions of children still wait outside the gates of learning, a flicker may be enough to guide them home.