The first time I walked into a juvenile detention facility to teach financial literacy, I expected disinterest. Instead, I was bombarded with questions. One boy asked what income meant; another was eager to learn how he could invest the money he earned. These were not mere abstract curiosities but gaps that spoke to a deeper failure. For many of these young children, the system that had detained them had never equipped them with life’s most basic skills; skills that were necessary to navigate beyond it. In theory, Pakistan’s juvenile system is built on rehabilitation. In practice, however, it often confines without preparing, leaving young offenders trapped in the very cycle the system claims to break.
Juvenile justice systems were founded on the belief that children should be reformed, not punished. When the first juvenile court was established in Chicago in 1899, it marked a shift towards rehabilitation, treating young offenders as individuals capable of change. As noted in Juvenile Justice: History and Philosophy (Encyclopedia of Law), these courts were designed as a ‘social welfare alternative’ focused on a child’s best interests rather than retribution. That original vision makes the shortcomings of today’s systems all the more difficult to ignore.
Under Pakistan’s Juvenile Justice System Act 2018, the government promised a system that prioritized rehabilitation, reintegration, and protection of rights. However, reality offers a stark contrast, with children often being subjected to mental stress, lack of education, and particularly a lack of legal aid. A key statistic from Justice Project Pakistan highlights that nearly 89% of juveniles charged with bailable offences are in jail due to a lack of legal access. Those who are wealthy enough to afford lawyers pay out of pocket; however, those who are not are left to suffer. This raises the question: Is Pakistan’s juvenile system one where economic status decides justice?
Studies by the LUMS Centre for Business and Society highlight that juveniles face abuse, overcrowding, and a lack of education, which can reinforce delinquent behavior instead of correcting it. According to interviews conducted by Justice Project Pakistan, 79% of juveniles were subjected to severe beatings, while 36% witnessed others being tortured. Therefore, a system that intends to rehabilitate incarcerated individuals is, in fact, turning children confined for petty crimes into hardened criminals.
When I began teaching financial literacy inside juvenile detention facilities, I quickly realized that what these young inmates lacked was not intelligence or willingness, but exposure. Many had not even attained a single year of education; they did not know how to open a bank account, what saving meant, or how informal debt can spiral. Yet they were eager to learn, often staying back after sessions to ask questions about jobs, income, and life outside. These interactions made one thing clear: financial literacy is not just an educational gap; it is a structural vulnerability that makes children more susceptible to crime. The reactions of juveniles to these classes were immediate and hopeful. However, such interventions remain exceptions rather than the norm.
Reform does not require reinventing the system; rather, it requires committing to what already works. Pakistan’s juvenile system should prioritize diversion, keeping first-time and low-risk offenders out of detention through alternate community-based alternatives. Inside facilities, structured programs of financial literacy, vocational training, and basic education must be standardized rather than treated as optional add-ons. Partnerships with organizations like UNICEF and SPARC could help scale proven models, while legal aid access must be expanded to ensure that children are not lost in procedural delays. Crucially, rehabilitation cannot end at release; reintegration pathways, apprenticeships, and school re-entry are essential to prevent relapse into crime. The question is not whether these children can change, but whether the system can provide them a meaningful second chance to do so. The same boy who asked me what income meant now spoke about opening his own bank account, a modest ambition, but one that depended entirely on whether he would be supported or abandoned upon release. Pakistan cannot afford a system that recycles crime. Investing in rehabilitation is not an act of charity; it is a necessity for a country whose future depends on whether its most vulnerable youth are given the tools to rebuild their lives and those of their families.
