Seven Empty Chairs, One Roster: Pakistan’s Federal Constitutional Court and Its 2026 Rules

In early 2026, seven chairs sit empty in the chamber of Pakistan’s new Federal Constitutional Court. At the very moment the court issued its first rulebook — the Federal Constitutional Court (Practice and Procedure Rules) 2026 — those vacant chairs and a single question spoke loudest: who decides which judge sits on which bench? The answer to that one question contains the whole arc, from the reform architecture of 2026 to the reversal of 2026. More than 23,000 cases are pending; the budget allocation for fiscal year 2026-27 is Rs6.048 billion. Yet the biggest event is not in the numbers but in a decision: a new court wrote its own rules of operation, and at the centre of those rules sits a single office. Without the background, the rulebook cannot be understood. For decades a debate has circled in Pakistan under the name “master of roster” — the authority to decide which judge hears which case. This is not merely a procedural dispute; tied to it is the question of how impartially the judiciary can dispose of politically charged matters. When the Supreme Court (Practice and Procedure) Act was passed in 2026, a three-judge committee model opened at the Supreme Court. The core idea was simple: instead of the chief justice’s sole will, a committee would decide which case goes to which bench. History lay behind it. The decisions of the Bandial and Isa eras, the 26th and 27th constitutional amendments, and political polarisation — PTI versus PDM — together produced sustained tension around the judiciary. It was in precisely this situation that the new Federal Constitutional Court was established, and given jurisdiction over the enforcement of fundamental rights and constitutional interpretation. Chief Justice Aminuddin Khan and Justice Hasan Azhar Rizvi stand at the centre of this new structure. Notably, Chief Justice Aminuddin Khan was earlier reported to favour the three-judge committee model; he now administers a rulebook in which that model is absent. The shift invites scrutiny. The most consequential part of the new rules is procedural. Under the 2026 rules, the power to constitute benches rests chiefly with the chief justice. The Supreme Court’s three-judge committee model is not replicated here. Where a difference of opinion arises, referral to another judge or a larger bench also depends on his discretion. He may constitute a larger bench at any stage on grounds of importance, complexity or public significance. In effect, the committee-based thinking introduced in 2026 has been reversed for the new court. From this a two-tier structure is born. The Supreme Court retains its committee model; the new constitutional court rests on single-office discretion. Two apex courts with two different bench-formation methods may generate a durable structural tension, one that becomes more complex on jurisdictional questions after the 27th Amendment. The boundary of which case goes to which court remains unclear. Efficiency and discipline are offered as the rationale. According to unnamed lawyers and to the lawyer Abdul Moiz Jaferii, a court whose independent footing is weak needs a disciplined unit “like a military camp”. The argument is unmistakably centralist, standing at the opposite pole from the pluralist committee model. Critics say the rules concentrate excessive discretionary power in the chief justice, without clear transparency safeguards. And it is precisely here that real capacity collides with the structure. The court has been allocated Rs6.048 billion for fiscal 2026-27, yet seven of its judicial seats are vacant. More than 23,000 cases are pending while new appointments lag. When sole bench-formation power meets thin staffing, the political weight of every procedural choice multiplies. The daily reality matters too. Filing, scheduling hearings, moving paperwork — even routine work slows under staffing shortages. Seven empty chairs do not merely signal a symbolic crisis; they mean fewer daily hearings, longer waits, and the social costs bound up with delayed justice. The appointment route raises a further question. Judges are appointed by the federal government, and this court is expected to be the primary forum for politically sensitive matters. The notion of a “controlled court” has thus become a contested battle of public perception. Recent matters involving PTI and Imran Khan, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Chief Minister Afridi and PTI leaders have heated that debate further. Every ruling now carries political meaning. For more than thirty-three years I have watched the relationship between rules and moments on the field. A short procedural sentence — a clause, a word like “discretion” — can sometimes change the fate of a whole game long after the scoreline is forgotten. I heard that fourteen-second moment in Rostov before I saw it; listening is a kind of faith. Something similar is happening with Pakistan’s new court — people sense its ruling before they see it, through the sound of the news. Eleven nights in Chattogram, one phone camera, and a stadium that refused to sleep — that is where I learned that empty chairs make the most noise. A vacant seat means not just absence but waiting; and waiting eventually becomes expectation. In a judiciary, that expectation is called legitimacy. When belief wavers, the real loss is institutional legitimacy. Now it is time to catch a blind spot in the conventional reading. The obvious explanation runs: new rules mean new control, and control means political interference. But the arithmetic is not simple. First, the “master of roster” debate is nothing new in Pakistan; even before 2026 there were allegations of “like-minded benches”. Concentrated discretionary power is no fresh invention; what is new is that it has been placed in a court whose independent footing is not yet built. Second, the “controlled court” narrative may itself be tested. If this court rules against the federal government in a high-profile matter, that narrative would be partly punctured. Third, and most important, the capacity data does not match the efficiency-and-“military camp” argument. With seven vacant seats and a 23,000-case backlog, the claim of discipline undermines itself. The most politically sensitive matters usually demand the most time and attention — yet that is exactly where staffing is thinnest. What to watch next. The first test is how the first politically sensitive bench is constituted. When the seven vacant seats are filled — and whether they are filled together — will shape the court’s future composition. Where the jurisdictions of the Supreme Court and the new court collide is another open question. The rules have been written; the question now is who first stands in their shadow. And when that moment arrives, it may already be too late to look back.