A LEADING Pakistani musician recently remarked on his social media account that he sometimes writes in English because “it lets me hide”, and he writes in Urdu because “it lets me bleed”. The tweet, raw and resonant, captures a quiet truth about language in Pakistan’s digital age. English, for many, is the language of polish, distance and global reach. Urdu and our regional languages carry the weight of intimacy, messiness and memory. The choice between them is rarely neutral. It is a negotiation of identity, audience and emotional safety.

In Pakistan’s online spaces, English has quietly become the dominant dialect of influence. It is the language of visibility, legitimacy and aspiration. This shift is not accidental. It is rooted in a longer history of linguistic imperialism, a term popularised by Robert Phillipson to describe how dominant languages suppress others through structural and symbolic power.

In Pakistan, this dynamic has colonial roots, but the digital age has accelerated it. The internet, while seemingly democratic, often rewards those who speak in global languages, especially English.

Linguists have long taken note of this shift, with scholars like Braj Kachru and Robert Baumgardner arguing that English in South Asia is not monolithic. It has been indigenised, localised and hybridised. Yet, even this localised English often overshadows indigenous languages in digital spaces. A random scroll through Pakistani social media content is enough to show that while English dominates serious discourse, Urdu surfaces in memes, punchlines, or poetic interludes.

Language is not a mere linguistic tool. It is a vessel of feeling. When we express heartbreak, joy or rage in a language that is not native to our emotional landscape, something gets lost. English is learned in classrooms, not kitchens. It is the language of exams, not lullabies. Yet it is increasingly the language of confession, connection and catharsis online. Although this emotional shift carries consequences. It creates a disconnect between the lived experience and digital expression. It also marginalises those not fluent in English.

For many, English is a lifeline to upward mobility and a passport to opportunity. These advantages come at a cost. The very language that empowers some can exclude others. It can silence local voices, flatten cultural nuance, and reinforce linguistic hierarchies. In Pakistan’s digital economy, English is often a prerequisite for participation, entrenching class divides and deepening elitism. The imbalance is not just cultural. It is coded. Platforms reward English. The internet does not just reflect linguistic hierarchy, it reinforces it.

Some comments in the vernacular get flagged, others are sidelined. They are digital silences. Yet resistance flickers. Hashtags like #TweetInUrdu reclaim space. Every post in a mother tongue is a quiet refusal to vanish.

The tension between the market tongue and the mother tongue is no longer just academic. It is existential. Reclaiming linguistic space online does not mean rejecting English. It means ensuring that other languages thrive alongside it. Platforms can promote multilingual content. Influencers can normalise Urdu and regional languages in serious discourse. Educational institutions can integrate digital literacy in mother tongues. These shifts may appear small, but, collectively, they resist a system where only one language carries value.

The rise of English in Pakistan’s digital age is not neutral. It is a form of soft power: subtle, pervasive and often invisible. Yet, its effects are tangible. They shape who gets heard, who gets seen, and who gets remembered. The future of our culture may depend on whether we continue to submit to English, or dare to feel again in the language that raised us.

Iman Rehman
Karachi

Published in Dawn, November 18th, 2025