Saraiki: Linguistic Justice, Political Equity, and Constitutional Recognition
Recognizing Saraikistan is not division — it is the path to justice, representation, and a truly united Pakistan.
Saraiki is not merely a language — it is a silenced civilization. A soul of the Indus trapped inside the margins of maps drawn without its voice. It is the breath of over 20 million people — spoken in homes, sung in shrines, dreamed in deserts — and yet, banished from the imagination of the state.
This is not the neglect of a distant periphery. It is a deliberate architecture of marginalization — sustained through census categories that collapse us, curricula that omit us, policies that bypass us, and a national narrative that denies our existence.
We have not been excluded by accident. We have been excluded by design.
The Machinery of Erasure, The Myth of Unity
The foundational fiction of Pakistan’s central political order is the myth of a singular Punjab: one language, one identity, one mandate to rule. This illusion has held the federation captive for decades.
But Punjab is not one. It is many — and we, the Saraiki, are not a dialect within it. We are a people apart: linguistically distinct, culturally autonomous, historically rooted in our own soil.
And yet, our difference has been systematically flattened:
- In censuses that deny us a column.
- In textbooks where our poets are absent.
- In parliaments shaped by boundaries drawn to dilute our voice.
This is not symbolic exclusion. It is political silencing — a strategy to preserve Punjab’s numerical hegemony in the National Assembly, where it alone holds a parliamentary majority. This hegemony, masked as unity, has reduced the federation to a single province ruling over the rest.
It is not unity. It is quiet domination.
A Federation in Form, Centralization in Practice
When one division — Gujranwala — holds more legislative power than the entire province of Balochistan, the imbalance is not just glaring; it is grotesque.
Punjab’s 173 seats out of 336 in the National Assembly mean that no national decision need account for the voices of smaller provinces. This is not federalism. It is a unitary state masquerading as a federation.
In this equation, a Saraiki from Bhakkar, Bahawalpur, Multan, or Rajanpur is not just politically invisible — they are structurally irrelevant.
And yet we are told to wait. To assimilate. To disappear quietly into someone else’s idea of unity. Meanwhile, the Saraiki belt withers — economically neglected, culturally effaced, politically orphaned.
But we are not invisible. We have been made invisible.
Saraikistan: A Vision of Inclusion, Not Division
The demand for Saraikistan — a separate province within the federation — is not secessionist. It is constitutional. It is federal. It is just.
It is the most democratic mechanism to correct decades of imbalance. A Saraiki province is not a threat to Pakistan’s cohesion — it is its salvation.
It means devolving power to where people live. It means governance that reflects cultural and linguistic reality. It means finally aligning the architecture of the state with the truth of the people it claims to represent.
A Pakistan that empowers Saraikistan is a Pakistan that believes in itself — not as a tyranny of the majority, but as a home for all its peoples.
Language as Power, Not Ornament
To erase a language is to erase a people’s claim to power. Saraiki has been confined to folk songs and festivals — allowed to exist only in the symbolic, never in the structural. It is celebrated on stage but silenced in policy.
Yet this is a language of thinkers, saints, revolutionaries — from the mystical longing of Khawaja Ghulam Farid to the raw political memory of oral histories passed from grandmother to grandchild.
Saraiki carries its own epistemology. Its own vision of justice. Its own grammar of dignity.
But our children are taught that Urdu is national, English is elite — and Saraiki is shame. This is not cultural policy. This is cultural violence.
Linguistic justice demands more than inclusion. It demands elevation. And it begins with five imperatives:
- Constitutional recognition of Saraiki as a national language.
- Creation of a Saraikistan province with full administrative and legislative autonomy.
- Integration of Saraiki into school curricula and official instruction.
- Establishment of institutions for media, research, translation, and literary production in Saraiki.
- Reform of political representation to ensure linguistic equity.
These are not symbolic demands. They are structural requirements for a functioning, pluralistic state.
Unity Through Parity, Not Uniformity
I write not in defiance of Pakistan, but in defense of its promise.
Pakistan was born to protect identities — not to suppress them. It was built on the idea that a federation of nations could thrive under shared purpose, not singular dominance.
When we call for a Saraiki province, we are not drawing lines of separation. We are drawing lines of inclusion — boundaries within which we can finally speak, govern, and grow on our own terms.
True unity does not erase difference; it honors it. A Pakistan that listens to all its tongues — not just speaks in one — is a Pakistan prepared for the future.
The Silence is Ending
For too long, the Saraiki people have been romanticized and marginalized in the same breath — cast as the soulful heart of Punjab, even as our own heartbeats were ignored.
But the Saraiki belt is no longer sleeping. It is rising.
Our movement is not born of resentment. It is born of remembrance — of who we are, of what we deserve, and of how much we have given to this country.
We are not asking to break away.
We are asking to be written in.
To be seen in law.
To be heard in parliament.
To be taught in schools.
To be trusted with power.
That is not a demand.
It is our right.
And the time is now.
Saraikistan is a vision, not a division — Saraikistan for a stronger, fairer Pakistan.
