Democracy is usually discussed in terms of votes, rights and institutions. I have started noticing it in the price of a journey across Islamabad.

When I came to Islamabad in 2019 at 17, I was a college student dependent on my family. Around Rs5,000 in pocket money gave me enough room after my basic expenses were covered. A Rs50 shawarma could be a meal, my hostel cost less than Rs10,000 and my monthly van fare was around Rs1,200. I could make small decisions without calculating the cost of each one.

Today, I work, study and earn my own income. Yet a meal can cost more than Rs1,000, and a journey across Islamabad can easily cost around Rs1,000 or more. I have more financial independence than I did at 17, but I have also become more conscious of what every trip, meal and ordinary choice costs. The point is not that I was better off as a teenager. It is that the cost of participating in everyday life has changed.

That change becomes more visible when we look at recent petrol prices. In 2019, petrol moved from around Rs91 per litre at the beginning of the year to Rs114 by December. Since then, the price has climbed to levels that would have seemed unimaginable at the time, crossing Rs458 during the worst of the recent surge before coming back to around Rs390 in September 2026.  Petrol is only one part of the inflation story, but it is one of the most immediate ways people experience it: through the cost of reaching work, university, markets and public spaces.

And the usual advice is to adjust. Use less fuel. Travel less. Cut unnecessary spending. The government’s austerity measures also shortened operating hours for shops, markets, malls and restaurants as part of its fuel-conservation drive. When austerity measures reduce working or business hours, people are asked to adjust their schedules too. But these decisions have consequences beyond saving fuel. A worker loses hours, a student loses classroom time, and someone who needs to buy groceries late at night may simply find fewer options available.

But austerity raises another question: who is being asked to absorb the cost of adjustment? The government has cut official-vehicle fuel allocations by 50% for three months, but the wider spending picture is much larger. The federal government spent Rs21.8 billion on official-vehicle fuel in FY2024–25, while 25 loss-making state-owned enterprises recorded Rs832.8 billion in combined losses in FY2025 and received Rs2.078 trillion in government support during FY2024–25. These figures point to a broader question about where the burden of fiscal adjustment falls and are not expenses of an ordinary household that can simply be managed by making a few fewer journeys.

The same tension appears in other spending decisions. A Gulfstream plane GVII-G500 acquired by the Punjab government has been reported to cost around Rs11 billion, with Transparency International Pakistan questioning the procurement process. At a time when people are being asked to travel less and cut everyday expenses, such spending inevitably becomes part of the austerity debate. The issue is not that every government expense can simply be eliminated. It is that asking people to adjust becomes harder to justify when larger, recurring public expenditures remain outside the same conversation.

The government’s targeted fuel subsidy provides Rs100 per litre relief to motorcycles, rickshaws and Qingqis for up to 20 litres a month, and to cars up to 800cc for up to 30 litres. That means a maximum saving of Rs2,000 for two- and three-wheelers and Rs3,000 for eligible small cars. The government has presented this as meaningful household relief, pointing to everyday expenses such as milk and eggs that the savings could help cover. But this calculation leaves out those who do not own an eligible vehicle and depend on public transport, vans or increasingly expensive ride-hailing services. For them, rising fuel prices are felt through higher fares, while the subsidy provides no direct relief. The scheme may cushion fuel costs for eligible users, but it does not address the wider affordability of mobility.

The shift to online work and education is often presented as an alternative. But an online class cannot automatically replace an in-person class when internet access, devices, affordability and digital skills remain uneven. Gallup Pakistan’s 2026 analysis of the HIES 2024–25 data found that internet access had expanded to 69 per cent of households, while women and rural populations continued to face significant gaps in access and digital skills. For students, particularly in rural areas, reducing physical classes without providing an equally effective alternative can mean lost learning time rather than a genuine solution. 

This is where I see the connection with democracy. Pakistan’s Constitution gives citizens rights to movement, association and expression. But having a right and having the practical ability to exercise it are different things. Amartya Sen’s capability approach makes a similar distinction: freedom is not only about what people are formally permitted to do, but also about the real opportunities available to them.

If the cost of moving around a city keeps rising, participation becomes harder. If working hours are reduced, incomes and opportunities can be affected. If education moves online without adequate infrastructure, access becomes unequal. These are economic questions, but they also shape how freely people can participate in society.

When I think about my own experience, that is what has changed most. At 17, I had less money and less independence, but ordinary decisions required less calculation. Today, I have an income and greater independence, yet the cost of an ordinary journey, meal or outing can determine whether I make it at all.

The question is not whether citizens can learn to adjust. People always do. The harder question is what happens to democracy when adjustment becomes the condition for participation.

About the Author:

Almas Jamil is Communications and Advocacy Officer at Accountability Lab Pakistan and can be reached at almas@accountabilitylab.org