Who Defines Respectability For Whom?
“Interview?” the security guard was grilling the young man wearing a crisp coat.
He nodded calmly and was ushered in without delay.
We tend to equate respectability with common sense and character. You might be reasoning about it now. Do you think a child is born believing that English sounds smarter, that branded clothes indicate higher self-esteem, and that a BMW deserves more recognition than a Mehran? These days, respectability has become a form of social currency. A white-picket-fence handbook that dictates the right education, accent, ancestry, and clout that society will approve as common sense.
Have you ever wondered who shapes this currency and passes it on as common sense? Who wrote this handbook? Is it an inherited privilege, or does it pass from cultural or political power? Is everyone admitted into this invisible rulebook on equal terms? And are those left outside it safe?
Respectability and rectitude walk hand in hand. It is neither universal nor an innocent idea. Since time immemorial, the aristocratic classes have defined what turns into respectability, and society just went with it, amplifying it through language, power, colonial legacies, patriarchy, and religious distortion. It decides whose mistakes deserve forgiveness, whose opinions are swayed and who will be trusted, admired, endorsed, or ignored. Privilege and inheritance often purchase respectability.
Do you think the elite merely accumulate wealth? When a parent thinks of school, which first comes to mind, the dream one? A few “respectable” names- LGS and Beaconhouse dominate both the mind and heart of every parent. The privileged classes shape the imagination of what success and professionalism sound like. Why does a polished English accent seem more intelligent than other regional accents? Why are branded schools readily mistaken for being competent or having integrity?
These standards feel so natural, as if the world were already designed in this pattern. It keeps engraving the distinctions into everyday life until privilege begins to masquerade as virtue.
Is it merely a class hierarchy? History reveals a colonial imprint that shapes society in every sphere, from imagination to material reality. Western manners, elevated English, and imported ideals of refinement have become the markers of ‘respectable’ or ‘civilised’. How often do you speak Punjabi in malls or restaurants? And how often do people hesitate before speaking English?
Yesterday, my friend went to a corporate office for an internship interview. Two fresh graduates applied for the same vacancy. Both have earned excellent grades and equal skills the job requires. The waiting room was silent, except for the nervous tapping of shoes. When the panel arrived, no questions had been asked; appraisals were already lingering – in the reading of a candidate’s clothes, in the confidence of an urbane accent, in the surprise at a traditional attire, and in the assumptions tied to a familiar university name. The first candidate, from LUMS, spoke in a confident English accent, while the other candidate from Minhaj University suddenly slipped into Urdu. Somewhere, between competence and confidence, respectability has murmured its verdict.
Ask yourself: If respectability really centres around character, why do we often recognise it through dialect, garments, university affiliation, and surnames? Why does a security guard stand tall when someone arrives in a Land Cruiser or BMW? Who benefits from it? The elite inherit more than wealth: they bequeath language, gender, confidence, vacancies and social networks, and society has internalised them as the spotlight of credibility.
In Pakistan, fluency in the English language often opens doors that talent alone cannot. English is more than a language; it works as a cultural capital, quietly separating those who “belong” from those who must first prove themselves. When opportunities consistently favour those who already possess the language, networks, and appearance, is respectability actually netted or simply inherited? Are we rewarding character or merely privileging the glossy presentation?
Respectability carries another privilege: it softens scrutiny.
How often does an elite-class person face death sentences or years behind bars? The Epstein Files remain one of the most hideous scandals ever recorded – and who is unaware of them? Did any prominent names – Donald Trump, Bill Gates, or Stephen Hawking receive the death penalty or be imprisoned over such scandals? These so-called “respectable” criminals still wield power to rule this planet.
Think of Pinky, a difficult target for the Pakistani state to trace despite years of hiding while allegedly expanding her network. She was married first to a lawyer and then to a policeman, both noble professions in the public imagination. If she had been married to any ordinary man, or had not moved within so-called ‘respectable’ circles, would she have been treated with the same leniency? Even the media appears to be turning her story into drama.
Now, consider Mahrang Baloch, a woman from a modest background, an educational activist for women and girls, yet she was sentenced to life imprisonment.
If privilege influences who is trusted, heard or defended, is respectability still a measure of character?
If respectability rewards privilege, it also pressures those who are vulnerable to conform. Why are men and women doing the same job often valued differently? Women’s clothing, movement, careers and even laughter are scrutinised in ways men rarely are. Why is a family’s honour so often judged by a daughter’s choices rather than a son’s conduct? Why, after the rape and murder of a seven-year-old named Muntaha in Sargodha, do media warn parents not to send their daughters alone, but never urge them to monitor their sons’ conduct?
The domestic worker entering through the back gate, the sanitation worker cleaning the streets before sunrise, or the labourer is too often judged by tattered clothes. How many times have we purchased them a Sapphire-tagged suit? How often at a party do we sit beside them? Or let them sit next to us on the same sofa?
Poverty is largely mistaken for a lack of dignity.
The dichotomy is that those who participate most in society have rarely been given the respect they deserve. Respectability seems to value visible conformity more than true character. Why do we persistently judge people by appearance, accent, occupation and obedience before honouring their humanity? When did it become more concerned with how people appear than with how they treat others?
Imagine if, tomorrow, a branded suit, exotic language, a celebrated university and a prominent surname vanished. How many of those we instinctively call “respectable” would still command admiration? Would our choices remain the same, or would many of our ideas fall apart? Would empathy sound wiser in polished English than in another language? Those we routinely overlook, the sanitation worker, the domestic employee, the government-school graduate, the woman who denies obeying, would finally be valued for their integrity rather than their social status?
The absurdity of these questions reflects the absurdity of our social ideas. Societies need norms, but norms become harmful when they confuse privilege with rectitude and appearance with character. Perhaps the real question is now not what counts as respectable. The important question is:
If respectability can be traded, inherited and performed, do we admire respectability itself or merely the facade of power?