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IN the final minutes of Hum TV’s recently concluded Tan Man Neel o Neel, there is no dialogue — just searing visuals: the protagonists running, the female lead’s dupatta and the male lead’s jacket flying, the mob’s eyes burning with rage. All of it is interwoven with gut-wrenching montages of real-life victims of mob violence and set against a haunting soundtrack. Tan Man Neel o Neel is not just a drama — it is a reminder of what cinema/TV can be. If used in the right way, it can be an instrument of reflection, responsibility, even resistance. But it is also a reminder of what it often becomes — a tool for reinforcing divides, creating dangerous stereotypes, and legitimising violence.
Cinema doesn’t operate in a vacuum. It shapes and is shaped by the societies that create it. The agenda-setting theory posits that media doesn’t tell us what to think, but it tells us what to think about. By selecting certain issues and ignoring others, media outlets shape public discourse and influence the perceived importance of topics. What we see on screen is more than just entertainment — it seeps into the public consciousness, influencing perceptions, validating biases, and, in some cases, actively shaping political discourse.
This isn’t just speculation. Media has always played a role in constructing narratives about the ‘other’. Hollywood’s war films — from Rambo to American Sniper — do not just tell stories; they cement an ideology. The idea that the US is the saviour, that its enemies are barbaric and in need of intervention, that war is necessary and justified — it’s not just a theme in movies and TV shows, it becomes a cultural undercurrent. It is no surprise then that nationalistic rhetoric thrives, that the discourse around safety and global policing becomes so deeply entrenched.
And this isn’t unique to Hollywood. In India, blockbuster after blockbuster glorifies war, aggression, and the demonisation of Muslims and Pakistan. The heroes are strong, and patriotic; the villains conveniently Pakistani or Muslim. When a Bollywood A-list star delivers a punchline about ‘unke ghar ghus ke maarein ge’(‘we will invade their homes and destroy them’), the audience erupts in applause. The enemy has been vilified to the point that the idea of destruction is not just accepted — it’s celebrated. This is not accidental. It is the crafting of a discourse that seeps into everyday conversations, into social media arguments, into real-world tensions. I have actually met people whose entire perception of Pakistan was based on Homeland, Season 4. It’s ridiculous, but it’s also terrifying.
What we see on screen is more than just entertainment.
And while certain narratives are amplified, others are silenced. When Netflix removes Palestinian-made films and documentaries, that is hardly an apolitical decision. It is tantamount to a deliberate erasure of a people’s stories. And when No Other Land, a documentary chronicling the painful realities of their occupation, reaches the Oscars, it is not just an artistic achievement — it is a moment of defiance against an industry that often prefers to look away.
This brings me to our TV screens. In many parts of the world, including Pakistan, television is still the most widely consumed form of media. It reaches households across class divides, shaping the thoughts and opinions of millions. What happens when drama after drama normalises domestic violence, slaps, cheating and emotional abuse? What happens when women are encouraged to give second chances to their abusive husbands in TV shows (there are many examples)? It’s not direct cause and effect — it’s normalisation. The more something is framed as acceptable, even desirable, the deeper it embeds in cultural norms. And that is dangerous.
Cinema, television, and media in general hold immense power. And with that power comes responsibility. The responsibility to recognise that what we put on screen does not just disappear when the credits roll — it lingers, it stays with people, and in many cases, it shapes the world they see.
In a sea of shows revolving around domestic quarrels, cheating husbands, and sisters fighting, Tan Man Neel o Neel chose to be different. It presents mob violence as the raw, horrifying, dehumanising reality that it is. It forces the audience to confront something uncomfortable. And that is what cinema/TV can be. It can challenge, unsettle, demand reflection. It is a moment in Pakistani television history that reminds us of the power of TV — not just as entertainment, but as social commentary, as a tool for public responsibility. And here I speak to the show’s team — as someone who works on inclusion and othering, I am in awe of your heroism and deeply grateful.
The writer is a researcher at the University of Cambridge.
Published in Dawn, February 20th, 2025
