In Pakistan, language is more than a way to talk to each other. It’s an indicator of what social class you belong to, what you have access to and who you belong with. Even though Urdu is the national language, English is still the language of correspondence for schools and other institutions. The problem lies in history and our society. English has long been the language of power. This creates a cycle where language decides what you can and cannot do.
The division between English and Urdu is not something that happened by chance. It all started when the British came to India. They made English the language of the government, law and power. Even though Urdu was still widely used in daily life, it was relegated to informal situations. This created such circumstances where the language one spoke said a lot about their access to places and their social classes. After the 1857 war, to get the confidence of the English, Sir Syed advised Muslims to adapt to the situation instead of fighting it. This did help Muslims to get opportunities, but it also made English seem like the language of power and importance, which is still true today.
This did not stop after the partition as well; instead, it turned into a trend where speaking English was a way to show your intelligence and confidence. On the other hand, languages like Urdu were seen as less important in formal situations. This is how the idea slowly became rooted in our minds. In this way, the effects of imperialism are still being felt.
The effects of this division are also seen in how the country is run, its decision-making, and democracy. Majorly, laws, policies and amendments are written in English. The only way to be heard or seen is through written correspondence. Even though most people in Pakistan are comfortable speaking Urdu, most of the official correspondence takes place in English. This creates a gap between the government and the people, and the way people participate in democracy. People are expected to understand and participate in systems that are not adaptable to them. Court cases, laws and government processes are not accessible to people, which ultimately makes people hesitant. As a result, language becomes a barrier not only to getting ahead in life but also to being a full citizen who holds the government accountable.
The language difference is also seen in our class structures. It separates the rich people from the common people. Differences in mannerisms, behaviours, and actions this upholds the social hierarchy. Being good at English is often seen as a sign of being rich. It affects how people are seen and treated in social and work lives. People who are not good at English are often called names like “chapri.”
The most significant issue to consider here is the geographical advantage. Cities have English-medium school systems that help students prepare according to the global English standards. On the contrary, people from rural areas who study in Urdu medium schools are at a disadvantage because they do not speak English, according to the shifting environment. They are often judged strictly at work, in professional settings, and in social circles. Similarly, the same approach also exists on social media. Job applications, government websites, surveys and community services are in English. On the whole, even basic opportunities and services have become dependent on social classes. This creates a cycle where the language we speak affects not just how we communicate but also what we can do, where we can go and how people see us.
Modern expectations strengthen this belief, leaking into daily life, communities and social classes. A classic example is the job interview filter. High-paying jobs and careers demand fluent English, with full confidence, to avoid being judged in professional settings. The divide extends to social circles as well, where Western trends are followed immensely. Those who engage with Western media, music and pop stars are seen as individuals with elite taste and more awareness. Meanwhile, local talent is ignored due to it being too cultural. Actively being excluded creates a sense of FOMO (fear of missing out) as people who don’t align with these trends are seen as out of touch and backward. In an effort to fit in, people are losing their sense of self, coming at the cost of individuality.
This status divide is evident in the educational structure and everyday life. English medium education, particularly within the Cambridge system, is set as a benchmark for education for the elite. On the other hand, matric, being one of the most easily available systems, is often seen as less prestigious. Within the private schools, their English-only policies lead to discouragement of local languages. This segregation extends to the home as well, where children are scolded for speaking Urdu, even punished at times. Private schools offer fluency, confidence, exposure and networking, while Urdu medium schools lack resources. This leads to fewer opportunities and skills, ultimately creating a barrier between societies. A student who was fluent in Urdu debating throughout his college life will struggle with English presentations during his university career.
The goal is not to wipe out English systems; it’s to make sure that language isn’t the thing that signals limitations. Until we fix this problem, the divide between Urdu and English will continue to exist. It is not a language problem; it is about being fair to the citizens, given the history, economy and society.