@
Armstrong
In my humble opinion, everyone is entitled to their own views. @
Hyperion associates the pashtuns of the early 1800's and 1900's to the Afghani's of the 20th Century who are diluted, and have no sense of loyalty or duty to their kinsmen across the border in Pakistan.
Travel to places like Quetta, and you can witness this first hand in Places like Pashin, Kharotobad, Qilla Saifullah. The Afghan youth, who's grandfather's, fathers and brothers we have sheltered now turn on us and make derogatory statements about Pakistan.
Anyone who has a Utopian view of the Pashtun's living in Afghanistan and their loyalty to the tribes let along to Pakistan for it's shelter and care of their kin, is living a fantasy. Don't believe me, travel to Kabul and sit in a tea shop, talk to a few locals and tell them you're from Pakistan, watch the disgust on their faces.
No brother, if anything we should extend a helping hand to our brethren in Baluchistan and interior Sindh, the time for living in care bear land is over. The problem with us Pakistanis is we are an overly emotional lot, forever focused on helping our brothers and sisters in the foreign lands, from Afghanistan, to Sudan to Palestine.
Whilst the thought is very noble, it's implementation is not. For Charity begins at home, and whilst there are so many things wrong with this world, you do not have to venture to foreign lands to find injustice, suffering and strife.
You can find your fair share of wrongs right outside your home. If we want Pakistan to prosper we must revert our thinking from being externally focused to self reflection, focused on a grassroots policy of development, outreach and brotherhood.*
An excerpt from Alfred Tennyson's poem "The Lotus Eaters" has a very important lesson for all Pakistanis, who struggle so much to run where the brave dare not go, that they forget their way home:
They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seem’d the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, “We will return no more;”
And all at once they sang,
“Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.”