The Daily-Wage “Untouchables” of KP Sports: When Silence Becomes Policy

 

Musarrat Ullah Jan , KikxNow , Digital Creator

We grew up hearing that caste discrimination belonged to history books, that it was a social evil confined to another time and another society. We were told that in the subcontinent the lowest rung of that system was the Shudra, people who worked the hardest, were paid the least, and had almost no rights. We were also told that modern states, modern laws, and modern institutions had buried such thinking forever.

Time spent at institutions like the Asian College of Journalism in India teaches one thing very clearly. Class does not disappear with education or slogans. There is always an elite class that dominates space, decision making, and narrative. That by itself is not the real danger. The real danger begins when people who rise from lower levels forget where they came from and start reproducing the same cruelty they once resented.

It is in this context that a prophetic saying of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) feels painfully relevant. One of the signs of moral collapse, he said, is when unfit people are placed in positions of authority. This is not a religious sermon. It is an administrative warning. And nowhere does it feel more accurate today than inside KP’s Sports Directorate.

There exists a class within this department that has no formal name, but everyone knows who they are. They are the daily-wage employees. The mali, the helpers, the gatekeepers, the cleaners, the stage setters, the invisible workforce without whom not a single sports event, ceremony, or photo session can function. On paper, they barely exist. In practice, they carry the department on their backs.These are the modern Shudras of the KP Sports Directorate.

Their salaries arrive last, if they arrive at all. Months go by, sometimes an entire year of work is extracted before payments are released. When they ask, they are told the funds are “stuck upstairs.” Upstairs where, and with whom, is a question they are not allowed to ask. They are poor, they are dependent, and they are replaceable. Silence is their survival strategy.

December 25 is a public holiday across Pakistan. Quaid-e-Azam Day. Christmas. Offices closed, officials at home, messages of unity circulating on social media. Yet inside the Sports Directorate, daily-wage employees were summoned to work. The reasons kept changing. First, they were told there were school functions, even though schools were closed. Then they were told a ceremony would be held on December 26 to honour athletes who performed well at the National Games, scheduled for 2 pm.

The question is simple. If the event is tomorrow, why call them today? And if presence is genuinely required, why only daily-wage staff? Permanent employees were on leave. Officers were unavailable. But daily-wage workers were expected to show up without question. Because for them, holidays do not apply. Rights do not apply. Laws bend differently.

These workers pay electricity bills like everyone else. They pay taxes like everyone else. They have children, rent, illness, and debt like everyone else. Yet inside this institution, they are treated as a separate species. A lesser category of human beings.

Among these daily-wage “Shudras” are members of the Christian community. On August 18, they submitted a formal request stating that their religious festival was approaching and that salaries should be released in advance. This was not an unreasonable demand. It was humane, lawful, and respectful of religious diversity.

By December 24, the eve of Christmas, their salaries still had not been paid. Around twenty-five employees were seen standing outside the office of a senior official just days ago, waiting, hoping, guessing whether their wages might finally be released. No announcement was made. No explanation given. One can only imagine the humiliation of standing outside an office, not to demand charity, but to beg for money already earned.

Humanity is supposed to mean something. When Muslim employees do not receive salaries before Eid, the outcry is immediate. Phones ring. Files move. Pressure builds. But when Christian workers wait for Christmas without pay, the system suddenly develops patience. This is not coincidence. It is discrimination by neglect.

All of this operates through verbal orders. Nothing is written. Nothing is documented. “Just come tomorrow.” “Stay today.” “We will see about payment.” This oral system is not accidental. It is designed to avoid accountability. A written order can be questioned. A verbal command evaporates when challenged.

This is governance by mood, not by law. If this is not the case, then let the Sports Directorate answer some basic questions. How much of the KP Sports Policy 2018 has actually been implemented? Why is its progress not public? Why did KP’s performance at the National Games raise serious questions despite heavy spending? How many athletes in 2025 took funds in the name of foreign exposure and international events, yet delivered only silver and bronze level outcomes for the province?

These are not hostile questions. These are governance questions. The problem deepens when the Right to Information law enters the picture. Requests for information are ignored. Deadlines are violated. When journalists highlight this silence, the response is not transparency but intimidation. Threats of legal action are floated. The message is clear. Ask questions and you will be punished.

If everything is legal, why fear disclosure?  Recent recruitment decisions have only reinforced this perception. Three individuals were hired on the recommendation of a single elected representative. All three belong to the same area. Orders came from above, so procedures were irrelevant. Not only were they hired, they were provided accommodation at Lala Ayub Hockey Stadium.

Two of them perform duties. One does not. He is rotated between squash courts, cricket academies, gates, and offices. When he cannot function anywhere, he is attached to senior officers with a simple instruction. Attend events. Take photographs. Roam the department.

This “duty” pays forty thousand rupees a month.  Because he is also technically a daily-wage worker, no one questions it. Because he moves with officers, no one audits it. If evidence is demanded, it exists. The contrast is brutal. On one side, daily-wage workers who cannot get paid before Christmas. On the other, daily-wage workers who cannot perform basic duties yet enjoy protection and privilege. This is not administration. This is patronage.

There was a time when even symbolic gestures mattered. A former Director General once ordered a cake from his own pocket and cut it in the presence of Class-IV employees. It was symbolic, perhaps even performative, but it acknowledged their existence. Later came a more humiliating phase. The workers themselves bought a cake, placed it before the officer, and posed for photographs as he cut it.

 

Today, even that symbolism is gone. There is no cake. There are no salaries. Only silence.

The core question remains unanswered. Is there one law in this province or several? Is daily-wage status a justification for suspending basic human dignity? Can a public institution function indefinitely on verbal commands, selective enforcement, and fear?

This column does not accuse individuals of crimes. It questions a system that has normalized inequality. A system that celebrates sports while degrading the people who make sports possible. A system that uses the language of policy and reform while operating on personal orders and quiet discrimination.

If this continues, the issue will not remain confined to daily-wage workers. It will become a legitimacy crisis for the entire sports governance structure in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Silence can delay accountability, but it cannot erase it. And when that reckoning comes, verbal orders will not be enough.

#SportsDirectorateKP  #DailyWageWorkers #MinorityRights  #LabourRights #HumanDignity #RightToInformation  #Accountability  #RuleOfLaw