By: Fareed Kakar
In Gwadar, a young man we will call Asad wakes up each morning to the sound of the sea, with nowhere to go. He holds a diploma in electrical work and has watched every online tutorial he can find. By ten o'clock he is at a tea stall, where he can see the cranes of the new port. By noon, the talk turns, as it does most days, to who has left for Karachi, who is trying for the Gulf and who has given up. Asad is not angry. He is waiting. The question for Pakistan is what will fill the space where his work should be.
Asad is one of nearly six million Pakistanis looking for work. The latest Labour Force Survey puts unemployment at 7.1 per cent, and close to 13 per cent among people aged 15 to 24. Among women with university degrees, almost one in four cannot find a job.
These numbers are usually seen as an economic problem. They are also a security concern. A job gives a young person more than an income. It gives a daily purpose, a place in the community and a stake in the future. When that is missing for too long, the empty hours fill with something else, whether frustration, migration, crime or the influence of those who exploit anger. Every job adds a little to stability. Every year of waiting adds a little to risk.
Many Chinese families will recognise Asad's situation from their own history. Not long ago, millions of young people in rural China faced the same choice between leaving home and waiting. China responded early. Its rise is often described through large factories and coastal cities, but much of its social stability was built on a smaller scale. In the 1980s, township and village enterprises gave millions of farmers factory jobs close to home. Later, China made employment a top economic priority and treated a steady job as the most reliable way out of poverty.
One part of this experience deserves more attention abroad. During its campaign against poverty, China brought work to villages instead of sending villagers to distant cities. Small poverty alleviation workshops opened in unused schools, courtyards and village halls. Larger companies supplied the orders and bought the finished products. In Heze, a city in Shandong province, more than 3,000 such workshops employed over 37,000 villagers by 2020. A mother could sew garments or assemble parts in the morning, collect her children from school at noon and still help with the harvest.
CPEC 2.0 can apply this lesson. The first phase built roads and power plants that now support Pakistan's economy. The second phase, with its focus on industry, agriculture and livelihoods, can support its people more directly. I propose that Pakistan and China launch a programme called Workshops Next Door.
The idea is simple. Firms in the special economic zones would not keep every stage of production inside the zones. Lighter work, such as stitching, packing, sorting, food processing and small assembly, would move to certified workshops in nearby districts. Each workshop would be linked to an anchor company that guarantees orders, sets quality standards and trains workers. Provincial governments would provide buildings, such as unused schools or community halls. Chinese partners would share their experience of running such workshops at scale.
The programme should first serve those who are furthest from opportunity. These include women who cannot travel far for work, young people in small towns, and families in Balochistan and the less developed districts of every province. Training should be practical and paid, so that people earn while they learn.
CPEC 2.0 should also measure its results in jobs. Alongside megawatts and kilometres, each new project could report the number of jobs created for every million dollars invested, and how many of them went to local people. A district-level jobs map, updated every year, would show where the corridor is improving lives and where more effort is needed.
Security is often discussed in terms of borders and weapons. Yet much of it is shaped in ordinary places, such as a tea stall at noon, a mother deciding between work and her children, or a young man wondering whether tomorrow will be any different. China's experience shows that a country becomes more stable one job at a time. Pakistan and China can now share that lesson along the corridor they have built together.
Asad should not have to choose between leaving home and waiting at the tea stall. One day soon, a workshop down the road should be offering him work.
Asad is a fictional name. His story represents many young people across Pakistan.
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