Citizenship in Pakistan is not only defined by law but shaped and reshaped through discourse. Who is seen as a rightful citizen, who is othered, and who is excluded altogether often hinges on the language used in political speeches, legal documents, media portrayals, and public debates. This language performs an invisible yet powerful function: it draws semantic borders that classify people into hierarchies of belonging.
Key to this stratification is the repeated use of phrases like "loyal Pakistani," "traitor," "real citizens," or "foreign agents." These binaries do more than describe—they construct a national identity that is conditional, racialized, religiously marked, and politically policed. In moments of crisis or conflict, such classifications intensify, casting dissenters, migrants, sectarian minorities, and even political opponents as outsiders to the national moral order.
Constitutional clauses and identity laws amplify these exclusions. Terms such as "Muslim," "patriot," and "eligible voter" carry embedded assumptions about who counts as part of the nation. The Ahmadi community, for instance, is excluded by a formal linguistic act—the word “Muslim” is reserved for others, and legal documents reinforce this exclusion with bureaucratic finality. Here, syntax becomes sovereignty.
Political rhetoric further sharpens these divisions. When leaders speak of “true Pakistanis,” “enemies of the state,” or “Indian agents,” they are not merely engaging in polemics—they are redrawing the map of national membership. These utterances function as discursive fences, separating those worthy of rights from those deemed threats or burdens.
Media coverage contributes to this narrative architecture by echoing official language. Headlines like “Illegal Afghans arrested,” “sectarian miscreants detained,” or “foreign-funded NGOs under scrutiny” normalize a vocabulary of exclusion. Such phrases condition public perception, coding entire communities as suspect based on ethnicity, religion, or affiliation.
The digital realm mirrors and magnifies these practices. Algorithms that surface trending hashtags or amplify certain accounts shape a citizenship discourse where loyalty is measured by one’s online alignment with dominant narratives. Those who critique the state are often labeled “ungrateful,” “agents,” "digital atankwadis," or “pseudo-intellectuals”—their linguistic dissent met with digital marginalization.
Yet, inclusion is also discursively possible. Civil society campaigns, progressive politicians, and independent media outlets counter this hegemonic language with terms like “equal citizen,” “plural Pakistan,” and “inclusive democracy.” These counter-narratives seek to expand the semantic borders rather than police them.
To imagine a more just and democratic Pakistan, we must pay close attention to how language includes or excludes. It is not only policies that must change, but the very words with which we define people, loyalty, and national belonging. Citizenship is a political reality—but it is first a linguistic one.
