Awrang Khan
“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” While Newton framed this law to explain physical motion, its essence quietly echoes through every human interaction—especially in a society like Pakistan’s, where emotions often run deeper than facts. In an era marked by political instability, economic anxiety, and social media outrage, understanding emotional responses is no longer just a psychological curiosity but a sociopolitical necessity.
Consider the emotional climate after every major political upheaval in Pakistan. Be it an election result, a controversial judicial verdict, or a public protest, we witness waves of public sentiment that often seem disproportionate to the event itself. But are they really? Or are they just long-suppressed feelings finally finding momentum?
In physics, inertia refers to an object’s resistance to change. Emotionally, societies also carry inertia. Pakistan—burdened with decades of military coups, ethnic conflicts, gender injustice, and economic disparity—carries emotional weight that doesn’t dissipate overnight. People don’t just respond to what happens today; they carry reactions from what happened ten, twenty, or even seventy years ago. These are not isolated emotional reactions. They are connected, cumulative, and often unaddressed.
Take the ongoing generational trauma of conflict in Balochistan or the lingering sentiments over the fall of Dhaka. For many, these aren’t just historical events; they’re emotional wounds. And like any law of motion, unless acted upon by an external force—truth, reconciliation, or justice—these emotions continue undisturbed.
Social media has become Pakistan’s most potent emotional amplifier. For every statement made online, an immediate backlash follows—often angrier, louder, and deeply personal. The vitriolic responses to issues like women’s rights (e.g., the Aurat March), press freedom, or minority protection show how emotional triggers operate. The initial action—often a demand for justice—is met with equal and opposite resistance, usually grounded in insecurity or fear of losing control.
But the law applies both ways. When injustice persists, resistance grows. When people are silenced, their anger simmers. This explains why seemingly minor events—like a tweet, a statement in parliament, or a viral video—can provoke mass reactions. These are not irrational eruptions; they are equal and opposite reactions to years of emotional suppression.
In physics, force equals mass times acceleration. Applied to emotion, this suggests the more intense the pain (mass), and the faster it spreads (acceleration), the more powerful the impact. In Pakistan, this explains how quickly narratives can shift, protests can form, or collective anger can boil over.
Consider the case of mob violence—an ugly, recurring reality. These aren’t random outbursts. Often, they are high-velocity emotional reactions to built-up frustration, fueled by misinformation and accelerated through unchecked digital platforms. The underlying mass is social inequality, lack of justice, and mistrust in institutions. The acceleration comes from political manipulation or algorithm-driven social media content.
It’s tempting to dismiss such reactions as irrational, but that would be both unjust and unhelpful. Emotions are not the enemy of rationality; they are part of the equation. Anger, grief, and even fear have historical roots. If ignored, they don’t fade—they intensify.
This emotional lens helps us understand why the youth may sound rebellious, why women are raising slogans, and why minorities feel alienated. Their emotional outbursts are not mere drama—they are data points of collective pain. They are responses to a society that has failed to provide answers.
Skeptics might argue that over-emphasising emotion dilutes accountability and rational thought. That’s fair. Emotion cannot become an excuse for hate or violence. But ignoring it entirely only fuels more resentment. The goal is not to validate every feeling but to understand its origin.
We must also guard against emotional manipulation—be it through political rhetoric, religious extremism, or sensational media. Just as physics warns us about uncontrolled energy, societies too must regulate emotional expression through dialogue, education, and empathy.
Pakistan doesn’t need a crash course in anger; we’re fluent in it. What we need is an education in emotional regulation and reflection. From classrooms to newsrooms, parliament to pulpits, we need to legitimise emotional intelligence as part of civic maturity.
Leaders must realise that every decision they make sets off emotional reactions. Policy-making isn’t just about GDP growth or security; it’s about restoring emotional trust. Until we address the emotional mass weighing down our nation—through healing, listening, and justice—we will remain trapped in cycles of reaction.
If Newton’s laws can predict the motion of stars, perhaps understanding our emotional laws can guide the course of our society. Pakistan doesn’t just need political reform—it needs emotional literacy. Recognising the physics of feelings may not end our problems, but it can help us navigate them with more empathy and less conflict.
The choice is ours: continue ignoring emotional laws and suffer their unpredictable outcomes—or embrace them and begin to heal as a nation.
The author is a journalist and a scholar in Media Science.
