The recent confrontation between the Lahore High Court (LHC) and the Punjab government has brought into sharp focus a perennial dilemma of governance in Pakistan: how to balance speedy relief for citizens with the constitutional guarantees of due process and judicial oversight. At the centre of this tussle lies the Punjab Protection of Ownership of Immovable Property Act, 2025, a law introduced by the provincial government to curb land grabbing and resolve property disputes within a compressed timeframe of ninety days.
Land disputes are among the most common and bitterly contested issues in Punjab. For decades, ordinary citizens — particularly widows, the elderly and the poor — have complained of land mafias, forged documents and endless litigation that drains both finances and patience. Against this backdrop, the Punjab government, led by Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz, presented the new law as a decisive intervention. The stated aim was to empower the state machinery to act swiftly, restore possession to rightful owners and dismantle the networks that thrive on procedural delays.
Maryam Nawaz has publicly defended the law with forceful rhetoric. In her view, the Act represents the state standing with the weak against powerful encroachers. She argues that suspending the law effectively shields land grabbers and frustrates citizens who have waited years — sometimes decades — for justice. According to the government’s narrative, the law is not an attack on the judiciary but a practical response to an overwhelmed court system unable to deliver timely relief in routine possession disputes.
However, the Lahore High Court, under Chief Justice Aalia Neelum, saw the matter through a very different perspective. The Court suspended the implementation of the Act, raising serious constitutional and legal concerns. Central to the Court’s reasoning was the sweeping authority granted to revenue officers, allowing them to decide questions of possession — even in cases already pending before civil courts. To the judiciary, this amounted to bypassing established legal forums and undermining the principle of separation of powers.
Justice Neelum’s remarks reflected an institutional anxiety rather than personal antagonism. She questioned how executive officials could be allowed to pass orders that directly affect civil rights, property ownership and possession without the rigorous procedural safeguards that courts are bound to follow. The fear was not merely theoretical. Pakistan’s administrative history is replete with examples where discretionary powers, even when well-intentioned, have been misused, politicised or weaponised against weaker parties.
From a constitutional standpoint, the LHC’s position rests on firm ground. Property rights are fundamental civil rights, and disputes over them often involve complex questions of title, evidence and equity. Allowing revenue officers to override or pre-empt judicial proceedings risks parallel systems of justice, conflicting orders and erosion of public confidence in courts. The judiciary’s insistence on “judicial supremacy” is, in this sense, less about turf and more about preserving the integrity of the legal process.
Yet, the Court’s suspension of the law also exposes a hard truth: the existing system has failed many citizens. Civil litigation over property is notoriously slow, expensive and susceptible to manipulation. Cases linger for years, during which illegal occupants continue to benefit from possession. For victims of land grabbing, legal purity offers little comfort if justice arrives too late to matter. The government’s frustration with this reality is neither new nor entirely unjustified.
Viewed dispassionately, both sides raise arguments that cannot be dismissed lightly. The Punjab government seeks efficiency, deterrence and swift relief. The LHC seeks legality, safeguards and constitutional balance. The conflict is not between justice and injustice, but between speed and scrutiny — both essential components of a fair system.
A more constructive path forward would lie in recalibration rather than confrontation. The law could be revisited to introduce stronger checks on the powers of revenue officers, mandatory judicial review, clear appeal mechanisms and strict penalties for misuse of authority. Special property tribunals under judicial supervision, time-bound civil procedures or hybrid models combining administrative action with court oversight could address both efficiency and legality.
Ultimately, the tussle highlights a deeper institutional challenge in Pakistan: reforming broken systems without breaking constitutional principles. Neither populist urgency nor judicial caution alone can resolve the land question. What is required is legislative humility, judicial openness to reform and a shared commitment to protecting citizens without diluting the rule of law.
If handled wisely, this clash could become an opportunity — not merely to amend a law, but to rethink how justice in property matters is delivered. If mishandled, it risks deepening mistrust between institutions and leaving citizens trapped, once again, between delay and discretion.