By Daud zafar
From the bustling streets of Lahore to the ancient temples of Umerkot, from the peaceful churches of Sargodha to the quiet Zoroastrian fire temples of Karachi, millions of non-Muslim Pakistanis live, work, dream, and pledge loyalty to the same soil. Yet one term — minority — confines their identity as if they are not full citizens of the country they call home.
The word minority — seemingly harmless or even protective — has, in reality, kept non-Muslim citizens politically boxed in for decades. It doesn’t just label us; it fences us off, creating an invisible wall between “us” and the so-called “real” Pakistanis.
Language and the Burden of Identity
In official documents, school curricula, the quota system, and media discourse, the word minority is used repeatedly. But why are we not referred to as Pakistani Christians, Pakistani Hindus, Pakistani Sikhs, or Pakistani Parsis? Why is our religious identity prioritized over our national one — simply because we are not Muslim?
This isn’t just a matter of vocabulary; it’s a matter of mindset. When a state or society hesitates to fully embrace all its citizens as equals, it fosters a culture of subtle discrimination and institutional exclusion.
When Identity Becomes a Line of Division
Non-Muslim Pakistanis have contributed immensely to the nation’s progress — as scientists, military officers, teachers, artists, and civil servants. Yet they continue to face suspicion, marginalization, and erasure. The label minority acts like a box — one that separates their contributions from the mainstream narrative, placing them in a category of the “other.”
What is often portrayed as a protective term actually masks a deep-rooted divide — a form of passive discrimination hidden beneath the cloak of inclusion.
The Literal Meaning of Minority — and Its Implications
The very word minority implies being “less,” “few,” or “limited” — used only when comparing something larger to something smaller. By default, it suggests that a group has no meaningful value except being numerically inferior. In our national context, this means that groups such as Kalashis, Hindus, Shias, Parsis, and Balochis are often defined by their smaller population and therefore treated as having lesser national importance or status.
National identity, however, should not be measured in numbers but in shared commitment, contribution, and belonging.
Jinnah’s Legacy and the “Sacred Trust” Misunderstood
Much is made of Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s speech referring to minorities as a “sacred trust.” But let’s ask ourselves: Is a trust meant to be displayed, broken, or paraded? A sacred trust is something one protects — not uses to justify systemic exclusion.
In fact, to call someone a “sacred trust” is to deny their autonomy. We were not meant to be “protected objects.” We were and are rightful heirs of this nation, not temporary guests or liabilities.
If anything, Jinnah’s speech, in hindsight, now seems inadequate. We don’t need to be regarded as a “trust.” We are citizens — plain and equal.
Bhutto’s Role in Institutionalizing Division
The term minority didn’t dominate Pakistan’s national language until Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto institutionalized it. It was under his leadership that Pakistan shifted from a “People’s Republic” to an “Islamic Republic.” In pursuit of a pan-Islamic political identity — one that sought favor with Middle Eastern powers like Saudi Arabia — Bhutto played a pivotal role in embedding religious division into the structure of the state.
By declaring Ahmadis non-Muslims, seizing control of Christian schools and hospitals, and reinforcing religious boundaries, Bhutto sowed the seeds of sectarianism and religious extremism. He laid the foundation for a system where non-Muslims, regardless of their service to the nation, were considered inherently unfit for the highest positions in power — including that of Prime Minister, Chief of Army Staff, or even a provincial governor.
This state-backed exclusion became the blueprint for decades of discrimination and social fragmentation. Today’s religious intolerance, sectarian violence, and extremist ideologies trace their roots back to these political maneuvers.
A Call for Equal Language, Equal Citizenship
If Pakistan truly stands on the principles of justice, equality, and unity, then why do millions of its citizens continue to be labeled as “minorities,” their identities restricted and their patriotism questioned?
Should Shia Muslims — themselves frequent victims of sectarian discrimination — also be labeled minorities? Where does the line end?
This change must begin with the way we speak. We must say Pakistani Christian, Pakistani Hindu, Pakistani Shia, Pakistani Sikh, Pakistani Parsi — because these are not just religious identities; they are national identities woven into the very fabric of our Constitution, our flag, and our collective soul.
The Real Path to Unity
Nations are not built through uniformity but through the celebration of diversity. As long as we use language that treats others as lesser, we cannot become a whole nation.
The time has come to tear down the walls of words that divide us, and build bridges of shared humanity instead.
So, the question remains:
Are we truly Pakistanis — or just minorities granted partial access to justice, power, and dignity?
