Crisis is not only experienced—it is constructed. In Pakistan, moments of national emergency are framed less by facts and more by the state’s rhetorical choreography. From natural disasters and pandemics to financial meltdowns and political standoffs, official language plays a decisive role in managing perception, diffusing dissent, and staging control.
Metaphors such as “war against the virus,” “economic tsunami,” or “battle for survival” convert crises into militarized narratives, effectively heightening urgency while centralizing authority. The choice of words is not accidental; it serves to rally public sentiment, suppress critique, and position the state as both savior and shield. These metaphors create a moral imperative to obey.
Linguistic tools like passive constructions—“mistakes were made,” “relief was provided,” “measures are being taken”—intentionally obscure agency. Who made the mistake? Who failed to deliver? Such syntactic ambiguity is not neutral; it allows actors in power to evade responsibility, pushing blame into abstraction.
Press briefings are replete with modal constructions—“we may face hardship,” “measures will be taken,” “we must remain united.” This language of possibility and moral obligation substitutes concrete accountability with appeals to patience, unity, and sacrifice. It gently disciplines the citizen while softening the visibility of failure.
Words like “resilience,” “frontline heroes,” and “national unity” contribute to what may be called the moral narrative of crisis. These words elevate suffering into virtue and cast systemic inadequacies as tests of national character. In the context of COVID-19 or floods, victims were framed as brave citizens, not as people failed by infrastructural neglect.
Emergency legislation often uses a bland yet authoritative register—terms like “temporary regulatory framework,” “executive prerogative,” or “unforeseen exigency”—to justify sweeping decisions with minimal public consultation. Beneath their clinical neutrality, these words suspend normal checks and balances in favor of executive convenience.
These discursive practices are not just rhetorical—they shape policy and suppress dissent. When journalists question disaster response, they are accused of “spreading panic.” When opposition leaders critique economic mismanagement, they are told not to “politicize national suffering.” In these exchanges, language becomes a tool of silencing.
Yet, moments of rupture also create space for counter-discourse. Citizen journalism, satire, and community-level communication reframe the crisis from below. They expose euphemisms, name those in power, and ask inconvenient questions. The challenge lies in ensuring that these counter-narratives do not remain digital ephemera but inform institutional reform.
A democratic response to crisis demands more than coordination—it requires linguistic transparency. The people deserve not just aid and policy, but honest language. Without it, crises become recurring theatres of performance, and recovery is always deferred.
