Ayesha Saddiqa
Among the many faculties endowed to humanity, language is both a gift and a battleground. In Pakistan, the linguistic terms, such as “ethnic” and “nationalist”, do not just describe speech communities, they shape how they are perceived, included, or excluded. These words have come to represent more than linguistic or cultural categories.
Terms like ethnic and ethnicity, which in most academic and international contexts refer neutrally to shared cultural and linguistic traits, rarely enjoy that neutrality in our discourse. The Pashtuns, Sindhis, Baloch, and Punjabis are not only real ethnic communities with distinct languages and histories, but also deeply politicized identities. Yet the term “ethnic” in our imagination is often wrapped in threat: a synonym for provincialism, disloyalty, or even rebellion. Connotatively, it suggests tribalism, backwardness, or a posture against the center. However, its literal, denotative meaning, as a group of people sharing culture, language, and heritage, is overshadowed by dominated narratives that view ethnic assertion as a potential step toward disintegration. Similarly, the term “nationalist” suffers from a semantic drift. In most countries, it implies an assertion of identity, pride, and a political vision rooted in self-determination. In Pakistan, however, this term Pashtun nationalist, Baloch nationalist, and Sindhi nationalist is often spontaneously cloaked in suspicion. It perpetuates fears of separatism and foreign-funded subversion, especially when leaders use such identity claims to highlight inequality, marginalization, or state neglect. It is no coincidence that post-1971 Pakistan, still haunted by the memory of Bangladesh, has grown wary of anything resembling sub-national assertion.
This semantic shift, however, is not accidental or rapid, as is a case with language borrowing. This shift proliferated from a centralized post-colonial state structure that promulgated a singular national identity, Islam and Urdu as its twin pillars, while relegating linguistic diversity to the margins. As a result, anyone demanding linguistic rights, resource control, or local governance is too often labeled not a reformer but a “nationalist,” which has become a shorthand for troublemaker.
But this framing does not reflect the realities, nor the intentions, of many regional leaders. The autobiographies of Abdul Ghaffar Khan, Abdul Samad Khan Achakzai, and G.M. Syed provide a striking counter-narrative. These men, each hailing from different cultures, such as Pashtun, Baloch, and Sindhi respectively, present a vision of nationalism not as rebellion, but as dignity, resistance to marginalization, and a call for inclusion within a more just federation.
Abdul Ghaffar Khan, known as the “Frontier Gandhi,” constructs Pashtun identity not in opposition to Pakistan, but as a reflection of peace, reform, and non-violence. His use of language in My Life and Struggle demands for inclusion. This autobiography asserts pride in culture, history, and the desire for education. “The Pathans were very keen on education, and I started schools for them but the government banned them,” he writes. The line does not incite hatred; it illustrates structural exclusion. In his eyes, Pashtun nationalism is simply the right to education, employment, health, security, and justice.
Abdul Samad Khan Achakzai is more direct. His autobiography frames ethnic identity as something historically betrayed. He does not hesitate to use the word “nation” for ethnic groups within Pakistan, arguing that “if you want to truly unite the country, give each nation its rights and let its language be heard in courts and schools.” He sees no contradiction between being a Pakistani and a Pashtun-Baloch nationalist. For him, democracy and ethnic dignity are mutually inclusive.
G.M. Syed, perhaps the most forceful voice among the three, takes this even further. In The Case of Sindh, he refers to Sindh not just as a province, but as a “nation,” asserting that “Sindh, apart from periodic losses of sovereignty, had always been independent… The present condition is nothing less than occupation.” His words echo colonial resistance, not civil unrest. He crafts a deeply historical argument, suggesting that state-imposed uniformity is a form of cultural erasure. For Syed, nationalism is a vehicle to recover voice and agency, not to disrespect or harm others and fracture the country. These autobiographies challenge the connotative meanings of “ethnic” and “nationalist” as threats. Instead, they underscore how such identities can form the moral vocabulary of resistance against marginalization. They do not call for the end of Pakistan, but for a Pakistan that acknowledges its plurality. Ironically, the existing linguistic diversity that could promote social cohesion and strengthen federal unity is being misread as a sign of fragmentation.
It is within this tension that much of Pakistan’s internal unease resides. Paradoxically, a Punjabi leader advocating for national interests is a patriot; however, a Baloch, Pashtun, or Sindhi leader doing the same for his people is too often a suspect. This contradiction reveals a deeper issue: not just about language, but about power, perception, and the unwillingness to fully embrace a multicultural or multilingual reality.
To move forward, Pakistan must learn to reclaim the neutrality and richness of its linguistic diversity including certain terms. Words like “ethnic” and “nationalist” must be returned to their rightful places as descriptors of identity and political aspiration, not as alarms of disintegration. Reframing these terms would allow for a richer, more inclusive national imagination – one where unity is not mistaken for sameness, and where diversity is a strength, not a weakness.
When people speak of social injustice and marginalization through the lens of their ethnic experience, they are not calling for revolt. They want to be accepted and respected. This recognition must begin with the language we choose to describe them.
It is time to swap stereotypical and biased words in our vocabulary with inclusive and respectful expressions to promote much-needed social cohesion.
The second author is an Assistant Professor of English at Govt. Graduate College for Women, Samanabad, Lahore
