Appeal by Members of Pakistan Association of Private Medical and Dental institutions (PAMI), Pakistan
Something is deeply wrong with how we are treating those who build Pakistan’s future doctors. Walk into any private medical college today, and behind the busy classrooms and white coats, you’ll find anxiety and despair. Faculty salaries are delayed, budgets are slashed, and administrators whisper about shutting down programs. Their biggest complaint? The Pakistan Medical and Dental Council (PMDC)—the very body meant to help them, is slowly choking them instead.
Under the leadership of Dr Rizwan Taj, PMDC’s governance has become a story of rules without reason. Its decisions, often taken behind closed doors, have created confusion in admissions, despair in finances, and frustration among educators.
Admissions that deny opportunity
The much-touted central induction system—marketed as a fair way to admit students—has turned into a bureaucratic nightmare. Merit lists drag on for months, and hundreds of MBBS and BDS seats remain empty while thousands of deserving students are turned away. The law itself says that private colleges can conduct their own admissions, with the MDCAT carrying 50 percent weightage. Yet that right has been taken away, leaving institutions helpless and students stranded.
Why not trust colleges to admit on merit, as the law allows? Restoring autonomy would not only fill classrooms but also rebuild faith in the system.
Pakistan’s medical education system stands at a crossroads. The Pakistan Medical and Dental Council’s rigid control over admissions and fee caps is suffocating the very institutions producing our doctors. Can PMDC return to lawful, collaborative regulation—or will medical education continue under the law of the jungle?
Fees that defy logic
Even more painful is the fee cap of Rs 1.85 million per year. On paper, it sounds student-friendly. In reality, it’s a death sentence for colleges that receive no government subsidy. Operational costs have doubled since 2022—electricity bills, equipment imports, and faculty salaries have all soared.
Public medical colleges like King Edward or Fatima Jinnah spend Rs 4–5 million annually per student, heavily subsidised by the state. Private colleges, receiving no support, are expected to operate at less than half that. Regionally, medical colleges in India charge PKR 3.5–8.5 million per year, and in Bangladesh, PKR 4–6 million. Even American high schools charge over USD 12,000 (PKR 3 million) annually—for secondary education alone.
When a nation values the training of its doctors less than the schooling of American teenagers, something is terribly wrong.
Voices that go unheard
The Pakistan Association of Private Medical and Dental Institutions (PAMI) represents 118 colleges producing 65 percent of Pakistan’s doctors, yet it has no seat in PMDC’s policymaking bodies. Policies are drafted about them, never with them. This exclusion explains why so many regulations seem detached from reality.
The human cost
Every vacant seat means one fewer doctor for our hospitals. Every underfunded college means another classroom without a teacher, another patient without care. If PMDC continues to rule by fiat instead of by law, Pakistan will not only lose its medical institutions—it will lose its ability to heal itself.
True reform does not require rebellion; it requires respect for law, dialogue, and trust. PMDC can still choose to guide rather than suffocate, to collaborate rather than control. The choice is simple: follow the rule of law, or continue under the law of the jungle.
The writer is a freelance contributor with expertise in higher-education governance and management.
